The Glass Riddle
by ElfineStarkadder
Summary: COMPLETE. "The question is, Inspector, who murdered Cinderella - and why?" Set in 1920. ...WARNING! Please desist from reading the reviews first, or if you do, read only those for the beginning of the story; this is a mystery, so the latest comments may contain spoilers. And if you really enjoy mysteries, you won't want to learn about the ending beforehand!
1. The StepDaughter

Chapter 1: The Step-Daughter

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It was a grand house, to be sure. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but surrounded with willows and roses and many quintessentially English shrubs. Lady Mary Crawe stepped from the car and peered at the dignified sign resting at the drive entrance.

MRS. MONTGOMERY'S BOARDING HOUSE

INEXPENSIVE PLEASANT ROOMS FOR RESPECTABLE PEOPLE.

Well, that was that, then. She called to her daughters, told the driver, "Just wait here. They'll send someone out for the luggage," and advanced up the old brick stairs.

Mrs. Montgomery heard the silver bell above the door jingle as Lady Mary came in. Owning a boarding house for twenty years gave a person a certain intuitiveness for the personalities behind unknown faces. As Lady Mary stepped up to the counter in the small, comfortable reception hall, Mrs. Montgomery was smiling, but she was musing thoughtfully as her gaze swept over the features of the woman. A face like a fox, she reflected. At a generous stretch, one would put her age somewhere near 40, though expertly applied art diminished the appearance of creases…gaunt, beak-nosed, bullying type, husband probably dead…

Lady Mary said, "I telephoned ahead. We have two rooms. Crawe is the name."

Mrs. Montgomery nodded amiably. She reached behind her and took out two large brass keys, which caused the air to simmer with a faint metallic odor. "Rooms 26 and 28, ma'am," she said. "I prepared them myself. Betsy will show you the way. Hugo, bring in the lady's suitcases." With these various instructions, Mrs. Montgomery dispatched a rosy-cheeked maid and a short green-suited footman, and watched as Lady Mary left the room, followed by her two daughters.

They looked just like their mother, albeit twenty years younger; dark, dry hair, brown eyes, and rather unattractive faces. The taller one was rather striking owing to a pair of strongly marked eyebrows and deeply colored lips; the shorter one was pale and blank and wore a round pair of spectacles.

Seconds after they withdrew, voices were heard along the corridor leading to the library, and a young man and what looked to be his sweetheart emerged, laughing and talking.

The girl went immediately to the counter and handed a key over. "We'll be out to lunch, Mrs. Montergomery." She was slight, blond little thing, pretty in a bland way. She hooked her arm through that of the man. "What about your key, Danny?"

"In my pocket," said Daniel, through a mouthful of lozenges. "You trust me, and all that sort of thing, don't you, Montgum'ry?"

Mrs. Montgomery did not answer. She placed the key in the box behind her. The girl and Daniel went out.

Mrs. Montgomery shook her head. Ah, young hearts weren't what they used to be. A boy-friend here, a fiancée there, she supposed. But the girl did seem to be attached to this one – Daniel, was it? And what was her name? Mrs. Montgomery flipped through the thick register. There. Daniel Lewellyn, checked in May of nineteen-twenty. And Cynthia Crawe…Crawe? Good heavens, could she be related to that woman – Lady Mary? She didn't look a thing like her. Of course, there had to be loads of Crawes. But still, it was most peculiar. Then again, with all the divorces and marriages and living-in-sin that was going on these days, one was hardly surprised at anything. Cynthia might be a stepdaughter, after all…

.

The tea-room was quiet and stuffy. Cynthia Crawe liked it. It was painted a pale lavender with white and yellow trimmings, and lunch was good and hot.

"Oy, Fred," said the proprietress, a large, red-faced lady with a stained apron. "Two more plates of mash."

Cynthia and Daniel sat at a small table – near the window, at Daniel's insistence. Of course, it was not entirely proper to be out alone together without a chaperone. But Cynthia was wearing her engagement ring, and they looked _rather_ married; so she remained oblivious to the impropriety of the situation. Daniel said nothing about it, and they ate in comfortable silence.

"Cindy, darling," said Daniel after a moment.

"Danny?"

"Don't you ever think – well – hang it all, you're such a mystery to me, you know."

Cindy went a shade paler under her hat. She stirred her malt. "Danny, don't let's talk about it."

"But we're going to get _married_, darling. All I know is how we met at that ghastly party of my parents."

"I told you about Dad," said Cindy in a low voice. "And about Mary."

"Yes, but you know, dear, heaps of people have step-families.I don't know why you won't talk about them – why you insisted we had to run away to get married. And it's caused my family so much bother, too." Daniel lit a cigar in an irritated manner. "Did they belong to a cult, or something like that?"

"No." Cindy shook her head. "Don't be awful."

"Well, anyway, I think you ought to tell me – "

"Don't make me, Danny," said Cindy desperately. "I don't like talking about them because they were _beastly, _and Dad dying was the horridest part of all so – I don't want to remember."

"I won't, then," said Daniel in a kinder tone. "Let's talk about more interesting things, all right, darling?" He took a long draught from a teacup. "Cindy? Are you ill?"

For Cindy was sitting bolt upright, with a rather curious expression on her pale face. Her large blue eyes were wide, and her mouth hung slightly open. She was staring in the direction of the door.

.

_Author's Note: I attempted to juxtapose the writing styles of Agatha Christie and Stella Gibbons. With both of them being geniuses, this was a little difficult…_


	2. Reunion

Chapter 2: Reunion

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Daniel turned around. A tall, thin woman, dark of hair and eyes, was entering the tea-room, followed by what seemed to be two multiplications of herself. The taller daughter was saying something nasty to the younger. They began squabbling.

"Cindy, do you know them?" he began, but Cindy seized his arm and said in a panicked voice: "Daniel! We've got to leave!"

He stood quickly, and upset his plate in the process. The clatter attracted the attention of the woman, whose eyes lit on Cynthia and narrowed.

"Oh, my _stars_," gasped Cindy.

She made one last, frantic effort to flee, but in an instant the woman had crossed the room and placed her fingers on the girl's shoulder.

"Cind_ee_," she said, with a low drawl. "Imagine finding you here."

"Mary," said Cindy in a small voice.

Daniel looked from one woman to the other. Cindy's face was tight and pinched. Lady Mary's was long and powdered, and her lips were so thin he found himself wondering if she had used a toothpick to apply the red colour.

"We've wondered where you went, so suddenly." Lady Mary tightened her grip.

"I – had perfect right to go wherever I wanted," said Cindy. There was the slightest sliver of righteous fury embedded in her fright. "I'm a gro-grow-wn woman now."

"Hardly a woman," began Lady Mary nastily.

"Let go of her," said Daniel.

Lady Mary turned as if noticing him for the first time.

"Well," she said. "A boy-friend, is it?"

"It's no business of yours," said Daniel. "She has a right to her own life."

Mary ignored him and turned back to Cindy. "Where are you staying?" She paused. "It wouldn't be Mrs. Montgomery's, would it?"

Cindy didn't answer. She didn't have to. Lady Mary laughed shortly.

"Let's go," Daniel said to Cindy, prying Mary's fingers off her shoulder. "You don't have to answer any of her questions."

Cindy turned her eyes down and let herself be led away from the woman. All her spunk was apparently used up.

Lady Mary watched them go. Isabel said, "You're going to let her off, Mum?"

"For now," said Lady Mary.

She wore an amused expression.

.

They went back to the house by way of the store-lined street. The day was overcast. Cindy didn't look back, but she did say in a low voice once, "They're not following us, are they?"

"No," said Daniel.

A moment later he said abruptly: "Now you've got to tell me everything, Cindy. You can't stall any more. Not after this."

"I know," said Cindy in a soft little voice. "And I'm sorry, Danny."

"It's not _your _fault," said Daniel. He scoffed. "What a lot of – well, they're awful. I can see why you left."

Cindy brightened a bit. "You can, can't you? I don't know at all why Dad married her. Maybe she was nicer. I don't know. I rather don't think so. And I don't think she ever liked Dad, either."

"Why did they get married, then?" said Daniel, incredulous.

"Probably because of his money," said Cindy. She thought for a moment. "Daddy had a lot of money."

Daniel didn't reply immediately, but his eyes were shifting.

"Daniel?" said Cindy.

"How much money, would you say?" said Daniel, slowly.

"Oh, heaps. I don't know. I don't really like to think about it – you see – " Cindy looked pained, but plunged ahead. "I might as well tell you, Danny – he left it all to - me."

Daniel stopped walking. "He did, eh?"

Cindy tugged at him and they continued on. "Yes, and I think it made Mary angry, because she was horrid to me after he died. I couldn't really go anywhere, you see, because they were the only family I'd got."

"Didn't she ever try to take your inheritance?" said Daniel.

"I'm jolly sure she did," said Cindy indignantly. "It was in her care, after all, as long as I was living under her roof – I'm sure she had her fingers in it lots…but there was a very nice man at the law office who helped me keep it. And then," cheering up, "I went to that garden party of your parents', in the dress the charwoman lent me – remember?"

Daniel was still mulling things over.

"And we've been very happy, ever since, right, Danny?" persisted Cindy.

"Yes," said Daniel, kissing her golden head. "Very happy."

"And you won't let them – I mean, do anything to me?" Cindy was half laughing, half serious. "I think she'd do anything to make me go back with her…"

"So she could get her hands on the money again, you mean."

"I told you, they're _beastly_."

"Of course I'll protect you, darling."

But his expression, when they reached the boarding-house, was more shrewd and calculating than anything else.

.

"Pass the biscuits, will you, Rose?" Sibyl White sat at the table in the library of Mrs. Montgomery's, laying out a game of solitaire and taking long drinks from a cup of chocolate. King, five, jester, two, ace.

"Bother," she said, and began shuffling.

She was a pale, red-lipped beauty. Her black hair was pulled back from her face, displaying a prominent widow's peak. People who knew her called her clever. She was rather inclined to think so, too.

The other girl came toward her with the jar, yawning and pushing tendrils of burnished gold hair away from her eyes. "Winning yet?"

"It's solitaire, dipstick." Sibyl bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at the cards, then made a sound of frustration. "It's no good. I can't concentrate on anything." She took two biscuits and dipped them in the chocolate. "What have you been doing today?"

Rose dropped into a chair and thrust her long legs up on the ottoman. "I was looking over the shops."

"And," said Sibyl, with a biscuit in her teeth.

"Boring. I sat down in one of the display chaises and almost fell asleep."

You would, thought Sibyl, and said nothing.

Rose drummed her fingers over the walnut paneling on the chair. "Can I have your copy of _Bizarre Happenings in Modern Schools_?"

"I lent it to Cynthia."

"She told me she looked all over, but couldn't find it, and supposed she gave it back to you."

"She certainly didn't." Sibyl chewed her pinky nail in frustration. "She's lost another of my books. I wish blonde-headed little imps didn't exist."

"By the way, have you seen the new boarders?"

"No. What about them?"

"They've got the same last name as Cynthia."

"Really?" Sibyl paused to consider that. "Well, they might be related, and they're probably not. What did she say?"

"Don't know. She went out to lunch with Daniel a while ago."

Directly after this statement, the young man himself entered. As looks went, Daniel Lewellyn was one of those charming few who are attractive from every angle and in every light. Sibyl had the fleeting thought that he ought to be framed and put in a museum as a specimen of perfection.

"Cindy with you?" said Rose, yawning again.

"She's in her room. Had a bit of a shock today," said Daniel, pouring himself some chocolate from the pot.

"It wouldn't by any chance have something to do with those new boarders?" said Sibyl.

Daniel turned to look at her. "Now, how did you guess that?"

"Common sense."

"Well, actually, it does. It's her step-family."

"Oh! Dear me," said Sibyl. "Nasty things, families."

"I seem to recall that yours is paying for your trips thither and yon," said Rose from the depths of the chair.

"Well, when one is writing novels, it's helpful to have inspiring scenery."

Daniel said to Sibyl, "How is the new one coming along?"

"It's a murder mystery."

"Is it good?"

"Very," said Sibyl unblushingly, and went back to her cards.

.

_Author's Note: I can't make Sibyl behave. She keeps talking and talking. It's very tiresome._

_Author's Note No. 2: Let's all give three cheers for the pirate, the rose, the lamb and the captain. (Hip, hip, hurrah, hip, hip, hurrah, hip, hip, hurrah!) My head, when I look in the mirror, appears to be three sizes too large. _

_I blame them._


	3. Arsenic

Chapter 3: Arsenic

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Rose Burns took her handkerchief from her pocket, set her dainty nose in it, and sneezed violently three times.

Sibyl uttered a small exclamation of disgust and took another large spoonful of soft-boiled egg. "I wish you wouldn't be so _open_, Rose."

"And I wish you weren't so fond of pepper," snapped Rose.

It was morning, and the day being a fine one, the boarders of Mrs. Montgomery's were breakfasting out under the large willows behind the building. It was a small party, not being the season for large tourist traffic: Lady Mary and her two daughters sat at one table, with Rose and Sibyl at another, and Daniel and Cynthia at the third. Cindy cowered and skulked about her breakfast, avoiding any glimpses of her step-family, as if they would devour her with a word.

Daniel put down his napkin. "I'm going to the City today on business," he told Cynthia. "I tried to put it off, but I can't."

Cindy said, "That's perfectly all right with me," and immediately afterwards began sighing and drooping in a depressed manner. Danny got up, patted her hand, kissed her, and went inside.

Two tables away, Lady Mary tapped a spoon against the shell of her egg and broke it, scooping out the innards.

"She's a rotty little thing," observed Louise after a bit, peering at Cindy through her spectacles.

"Professor J. Laud said at the Assembly last week that soon, intelligent organisms will be required to exterminate needless ones for the benefit of humanity," said Isabel. "I think it's rather a good idea, don't you, mummy?"

"Who said it?" asked Lady Mary absently, staring at Cindy.

"Professor J. Laud. Why do you think Daniel Lewellyn is with her? It's probably because of her father's money."

"She'd never have a chance otherwise," said Louise sourly.

.

Having finished her tea, and her table being rather close to that occupied by Rose and Sibyl, Cindy scraped her chair over a bit and said, "Where are you going this morning? It'll be too frightfully boring for me here with Daniel gone."

"We're going to see the new concert at the Hall," said Rose, putting away her handkerchief.

"That modern thing?" Cindy's fair face crumpled into a frown. "Ugh, how horrid."

"It's supposed to be very good," said Sibyl, rather injured.

"It might be," said Rose.

They continued eating. Cindy rose and, casting a wary glance in Lady Mary's direction, went inside.

.

The concert, composed by an obscure Person from Turkey or some place, had been loudly proclaimed by critics to be very brilliant and fashionable and Sibyl, ever seeking after distinguishment, felt that it could benefit her mind.

They sat down in black velvet seats, the curtain rose, and the music began. It was all very horrid, of course, a low thrumming which changed in pitch every ten minutes and was accompanied by the odd clash of discordant piano. It was supposed to represent the thoughts and feelings of a human brain - the brain of the composer perhaps; but Sibyl thought it was all very interesting and came out of the Hall satisfied.

Upon returning home, she went up to her room and proceeded to while away the afternoon with a penny dreadful (which wasn't so very dreadful after all, as she found to her disappointment).

Sighing, she went downstairs as darkness was falling around the house, and met Daniel, who was coming in. Rose was already occupying the library, Sibyl's preferred room, and the smell of chocolate wafted out (Mrs. Montgomery's, be it deficient in any other respect, was unmatched when it came to chocolate). Sibyl went in and sat down at the table, eyeing the cards resting in the center.

Daniel poured the chocolate into two blue cups.

"Is one of those for me?" said Rose hopefully from her usual toppled-over position in the chair.

Daniel downed the contents of one and set the other on the side table. "No. For Cindy and I. Have you seen her today?"

"This morning, of course," said Sibyl, "But we were out, and then I was in my room. You needn't be so worried, Daniel. Mary whats-it and her offspring might kick up a fuss but that's all."

Daniel passed a hand over his forehead. "I suppose – well, yes. Jupiter, that stuff is hot. Cindy likes it cold. I'm going to fetch some milk."

He went out. Sibyl closed her eyes.

.

Cindy did not stir from her room all that evening, or the next morning.

Sibyl ate her eggs in the sitting-room with determination and set the spoon down with a clatter. "I wonder if Cynthia really has lost _Bizarre Happenings in Modern Schools_."

"Probably," said Rose. "She's a little muddle-headed."

"I don't believe in that sort of thing," said Sibyl, picking at a thread on her yellow dress. "I think she's perfectly sound, and just doesn't want to trouble herself."

"You don't know what she went through at her stepmother's," said Daniel, staring down at his toast. "She told me – "

"I don't care if they tried to make sausage out of her pet duck or something, like in that picture show last week," said Sibyl. "I need my book, and if I have to go through her room myself – "

She stood up, resolute, and marched firmly up the stairs with a fierce gleam in her eye.

"I wouldn't like to be Cindy," said Rose, blinking sleepily. "You know how Sibyl can be about her books…"

There was a crash, and the yellow-clad form of Sibyl flew through the hall and down the stairs.

"I say, what's the matter with her?" said Daniel.

"Call the police," gasped Sibyl, her face white, with a vivid red spot in each cheek. It created an alarming contrast to her black hair and deep lips. "Call them – I can't - my hands are shaking - "

.

_Author's Note: Well, here we are, and the fun begins! If you're going to leave a review on your way away (which you are, I'm sure?) remember to be discreet in mentioning the happenings from here on out. We wouldn't want some poor lost soul to read the reviews before the story and thereby find out everything._

_Author's Note No. 2: I feel like this chapter is a little patchy. Any advice as to how to make it smoother would be appreciated. Your lovely lovely reviews make me pleased pink! Only one slight request, perhaps you could filter out Words Of That Sort…in all other respects I humbly thank you._

_Author's Note No. 3: In addition, the concert idea was shamelessly snatched out of Stella Gibbons' Cold Comfort Farm. _

_Author's Note No. 4: HAPPY FOURTH! Go eat grilled things._


	4. Those Concerned

Chapter 4: Those Concerned

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The Inspector who arrived in the reception hall of Mrs. Montgomery's was young, "Young and green," as Sibyl thought to herself. She had regained a great deal of her composure with the help of Rose, who had begun wailing so hysterically Sibyl had been forced to forget her own alarm in order to quiet her.

Daniel had flown upstairs, taken one look, and locked himself in his own room. They hadn't seen him since.

This Inspector was probably pushed out here, to a little quiet countryside murder, because they didn't know what else to do with him, thought Sibyl.

"Edwin Clair," said the object of Sibyl's thoughts, holding out a hand to Mrs. Montgomery.

"Inspector Edwin Clair? Oh! My," Mrs. Montgomery seemed flustered. "I was just reading of the famous Clair-Brown court proceedings – " She put a finger to her temple. " 'Blue Button Case', as I believe it's been called by the newspapers."

Oh, thought Sibyl. _That _Edwin Clair.

"Well," the Inspector nodded shortly. "I'm glad I seem qualified to you." He paused and looked around the hall. "Did you know the late Miss Crawe well?"

"She had been staying for only a month and a half, Inspector. I did not know her well."

"If I may ask, who is this young lady?" Edwin Clair had gotten out a blue notebook and was now jabbing a pencil in Sibyl's direction.

"Sibyl White," said Mrs. Montgomery, hurrying to her side and patting her shoulder. "Another of my boarders, Inspector."

Edwin made a noise somewhat akin to "Erh," and wrote that down.

"Where is the body?" he said briskly.

"In her room," said Sibyl quietly. "We didn't move her, after we realized."

"Ah. Which brings us to the question – " the Inspector began moving towards the stairs – "Who discovered the deceased?"

"I did," said Sibyl, and began walking behind him. The sun was blazing through the windows, and it made her feel very strange, as if the murder had taken place in a bubble, and no one knew or cared, not even the sunshine.

"And pray, Miss White, how did you know she was dead?"

Sibyl said, "When there is no heartbeat, and no pulse, that is generally the conclusion one comes to, Inspector," because between the sun and his idiotic questions, she was feeling more than a little irritated.

"I learned from whoever spoke to me on the phone that the body was not marked or injured." Edwin Clair was taking the steps two at a time.

"That was Hawthorne, the footman, you talked to," said Sibyl. "Nobody else was sane enough at the time. And yes, there were no marks. No – blood," she finished with slight distaste.

"And why did you also come to the conclusion that she was murdered?"

Sibyl opened her mouth and stopped abruptly. Hearing nothing, the Inspector turned around and waited on the landing. Mrs. Montgomery, puffing behind her, stopped as well.

Sibyl said, beginning slowly: "Well, I see what you mean. You think I ought to have assumed she died naturally – because of a heart condition or allergies or that sort of thing. But it's just that she was so _young_, Inspector. She was completely healthy and just yesterday morning she was babbling about being bored or something – and when I saw her lying there, her face was so white and still - "

"I see." The Inspector resumed walking.

"The second door," said Mrs. Montgomery.

They reached the carpeted hall and without further ado Edwin Clair opened Cynthia Crawe's door.

Sibyl averted her eyes from the four-poster in the room and instead focused on the Inspector. She watched as he took in the room, its silent occupant, and the half-empty blue cup on the night-table, and wrote notes in his book. He then turned around.

"Mrs. Montgomery, may I use your telephone?" he said. "I'm going to call Dr. Shaw so he can perform the autopsy."

.

"Arsenic? How could she possibly have taken arsenic?"

They stood in the sitting room outside the library, where the telephone was. The morning had long since turned to afternoon.

Edwin Clair said, "In the cup of chocolate that we found on her night-table. Shaw's almost positive, but he still has to give an official certificate."

Sibyl considered that, and said, "Well, I don't like to say it, but - Daniel took it up to her, you know."

"The chocolate? Did he pour it, too?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone else have a chance to put something in it?"

"Well…" Sibyl paused. "He left it in the saucer for a moment, in the library, while he went to fetch some milk."

"Were you and Miss Burns in each other's sight the whole time?"

"Yes – but - well, I suppose not. She was sitting in the high-backed chair in front of the fire, and I was leaning over the table…"

"Where was the cup?"

"On the side-table, behind where I was sitting."

"So you or Miss Burns could have reached the cup without the other noticing?"

There was another pause, then Sibyl spoke quietly. "Yes, Inspector. Either of us could have very well slipped arsenic into the cup."

The Inspector looked at her for a moment, and said, "Thank you."

The door was flung open, and Rose came in. "Sibyl, there are reporters at the door and they're casting up an awful fuss, and I can't make them shut up."

"Maybe they had better talk to me," said the Inspector.

"Oh!" said Rose, as if noticing him for the first time. "You're with the police? Scotland Yard, and all that?"

"This isn't quite Scotland Yard," said Inspector Clair dryly. "Not like Sherlock Holmes, you know, when someone's pearl-string goes missing and everyone jumps."

"Well, it's all very interesting." Rose dropped into a chair and blinked at him. "You're not arresting Sibyl, are you?"

"Why should I?" inquired the Inspector.

"There's a lot of evidence against her," said Rose, yawning. "Ask anyone. Just the other day she was wishing Cindy out of the world. Weren't you, Sib?"

"Er – " Sibyl began.

Inspector Clair turned a slow, suspicious stare on her, and Sibyl felt hot all over. Rose was exceedingly tiresome. She ought to have known that policemen seldom have a good sense of humor.

"Don't be absurd, Rose," Sibyl said irritably.

Rose innocently opened her huge eyes very wide. "I say, it was only a joke."

The Inspector was still staring at Sibyl, and she cursed Rose very heartily in her mind.

"As long as everything's in the open, we have no need to be nervous," Clair said in a friendly tone. "What was it, exactly, that you said?"

"I wasn't serious at all," said Sibyl, throwing Rose a withering glance. "Cindy had borrowed my book and lost it. I said – quite lightly – "

"She said she wished blonde-headed little imps didn't exist," said Daniel, coming in and turning his dark blue eyes on her. "Wasn't that it?"

"How did you hear?" Sibyl said, astonished.

"I was standing in the doorway. You lot didn't notice me." He leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. "But I for sure heard _you _– "

"How dare you insinuate – " demanded Sibyl, but before she got any further, Inspector Clair swiftly took her arm, pulled her into the library, and shut the door.

"Now," he said. "You've been very thoughtful throughout this whole thing, Miss White."

"I was just about to knock him over," said Sibyl in a disappointed tone.

"Did you hear me?"

"Well," Sibyl said, and stopped.

"What have you been thinking over? It might do you good to tell me." The Inspector's steady gaze made her not a little uncomfortable. He knows, she thought. No matter what I tell him, he'll _know_.

"As you say, Inspector, we might as well be honest," said Sibyl, and crossed her arms over her chest, staring levelly back. "I don't believe anyone, besides Daniel, really liked Cynthia Crawe at all."

.

_Random but Beneficial Author's Note: To everyone who likes a good 60's action movie, go watch L'Homme de Rio, or That Man from Rio, on Youtube. Francoise Dorleac is cute as a button._


	5. Suspecting

Chapter 5: Suspecting

.

"Naturally I don't know anything about it," said Lady Mary. Her face was austere and composed.

Edwin Clair motioned for her to sit down, and there was an uneasy silence for a moment as he thought of the best way to handle this woman. She was the difficult sort…also the gaudy sort who is always trying to look young, he thought. Her long form was draped with purple, embroidered with golden grapes. She looked like a female Dionysius.

"Inspector, if you want to know what I think," said Lady Mary, "You ought to talk to that fiancée of hers." She poked a long forefinger down on the table and tapped it decisively.

"I will," said the Inspector soothingly. "Now, could you tell me what you were doing the night of July second?"

"You mean last night," corrected Lady Mary disagreeably.

Edwin sighed inwardly. "Last night," he amended.

"I was in my room. What do you think I was doing? Or, perhaps, what do you _hope _I was doing?"

"Lady Mary, I am not trying to convict you of – "

At this moment Isabel Crawe entered the sitting-room. She looked from her mother to the Inspector, raising a dark eyebrow.

The Inspector glanced at her, and for a split-second, he glimpsed an arrogant, triumphant expression. It was gone in an instant, and Edwin wondered if he had imagined it. However, in his experience, it was the things one thought one imagined that were usually the most important, so he filed the observation away for dissection later.

"Would your daughter like to add to your statement?" said Edwin Clair.

Isabel said, "What statement? What did you tell him?"

"Nothing, child," said Lady Mary.

"Now, I understand from Miss Cynthia Crawe's lawyer that she had inherited a rather large fortune from the late Mr. Crawe," said Edwin.

Lady Mary stiffened visibly. He had struck something. "That's correct," she said, tight-lipped.

"And upon the occasion of her death," said Edwin, nonchalantly, "Her inheritance passes entirely to her closest of kin – namely, you."

"Oh, what a bore you are," said Isabel with a shriek of a laugh. "Think we'd knock off our own, Inspector?"

The Inspector did not reply to that. He rose and said "Thank you" before going out. He couldn't handle both at once. They were like peppercorns in the mouth.

"What an attractive animal," said Isabel, looking after the form of Edwin Clair. "He's quite got the Romanesque features, don't you think, mummy?"

.

Gladys, the housemaid, was so plump and rosy she could have been in a Michelangelo painting. She was puffing slightly, with either excitement or exhaustion from having climbed the stairs. She wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"I know some things," she said promptly, as Edwin Clair motioned for her to sit down.

"Do you?" said the Inspector, pencil poised, mind alert but not overly. He knew Gladys' type. You usually had to peel back the ribbons and gilt from their stories to get to the one skinny fact.

"I was passing by Miss Crawe's door around eleven-thirty last night," she said.

At the Inspector's slightly questioning look, Gladys said, "'S just before I go to bed up, you see, to make sure all the electric lamps are turned off, sir."

"Go on," said Edwin.

"And," said Gladys, leaning forward mysteriously, "I heard – a cough."

"A cough?" said the Inspector in bewilderment.

Gladys nodded emphatically.

"It could have been the late Miss Crawe herself," said Edwin Clair.

"No-o-o," said Gladys. "It was a _man's _cough, sir."

"And did it sound like the cough of any man in particular?"

"Well, I really don't like to say." Gladys was relishing her moment of informative superiority. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Let's suppose the name of the man starts with an _L_."

This was not much help, as the only men in the house were Daniel Lewellyn and Lester Hawthorne. Two L's.

"The first name or the last?" the Inspector inquired patiently.

She shook her head. "Tut, tut, Inspector. You shan't get any more from me."

Edwin Clair scratched his well-formed chin. "You're sure you're not mistaken in any way?"

"Oh, no. This was no _ordinary _cough."

That is the way it always is with witnesses, thought the Inspector with a bit of irritation. The footprint is no _ordinary _footprint. The sticking-plaster is no _ordinary _sticking plaster. The cough is no _ordinary _cough. It was, he supposed cynically, a special kind of murderer's cough.

"Could you detail your other movements?" he said.

Gladys held out a chubby hand and began curling the fingers down. "Well, I finished polishing the supper candlesticks (Mrs. Montgomery likes them done particular, or I'll get scuppered, Inspector) and I brought the bedding up to the empty rooms, because they'd been airing. And as I went up, the Lady said the carpet wasn't clean, and Mr. Lew'lyn said it looked right fine to him, so I – "

"Hold one minute," said Edwin suddenly. "Where did you meet Lady Mary?"

"On the stairs," said Gladys, turning round eyes on him.

"And Daniel Lewellyn was there as well?" said the Inspector.

"Yessir, he was taking a cup of something up to his girl, the poor dead one. She wasn't dead yet, of course."

"Gladys," said Edwin. "Please describe the encounter in detail."

"I went up the stairs," began Gladys, "And I met Mr. Lew'lyn going up, and the Lady and her daughter coming down."

"Which daughter?"

"The one which has the spectacles."

"That's Louise," said the Inspector. "Continue."

"The Lady was talking to him, and when I came up she told me the carpet was dirty. Mean as a cat, that one is. And Mr. Lew'lyn said it looked fine to him."

"Were you behind him, on the stairs, when he said this?"

"Yessir."

"And Lady Mary was…?"

"In front of him, about to pass by and go down."

"So," said Edwin, looking strangely excited, "He had to turn his head around to talk to you."

"Yes, I suppose," said Gladys, looking bewildered.

"You didn't notice if she happened to – drop anything in the cup, when he was talking to you?" said Edwin.

"No, sir," said Gladys. "I wasn't watching her." She blushed.

"Ah. Mr. Lewellyn is a very good-looking young man, isn't he?" said Edwin understandingly.

"Yes, I mean – not my place, sir," said Gladys, turning an unbecoming shade of shiny red.

"That's all right," said the Inspector. "That's all right. Thank you, Gladys."

.

_Author's Note: I must admit the cough bit was pilfered from Agatha Christie's 'Murder in the Vicarage' (except there it was a sneeze)._


	6. Motives

Chapter 6: Motives

.

It was late when the Inspector stepped out into the reception hall and sent Hawthorne for the car. Daniel was standing next to an open window, smoking a cigar. Sibyl was sitting at the little table, stacking coins from her purse. They both looked up as Edwin came in.

"Leaving?" said Sibyl.

"Yes. I would stay overnight, but there are some things I need to take care of at the station." Edwin put his hands in his pockets and looked out the diamond-paned glass a moment.

"There's something I'd like to get straight," the Inspector said, more to Daniel than to Sibyl. "Were you all a large party – Miss White and Miss Burns and you and Cynthia Crawe? Or did you come separately?"

"Sibyl and Rose were here before we came," said Daniel.

"And Lady Mary?" said Edwin. "Did she know Miss Crawe was staying here?"

"No," said Daniel, dropping the ashes of his cigar in a porcelain bowl. "It's this way. Cindy told me that her step-mother had the legal right to use her inheritance while Cindy was under her roof, after Lord Crawe died. My fiancée left in secret, Inspector, and I'm proud to say I helped her." Edwin was mildly suprised to note that Daniel's voice was shaking slightly.

"I see," said the Inspector. "And do you know if - Lady Mary knew her step-daughter had come here?"

"I don't think so," said Daniel. "They must have had to move here after Mary's ability to use Lord Crawe's money left when Cindy did. I don't believe Lady Mary has any funds of her own."

"It was just Cindy's rotten luck that her step-mother came creeping round to this particular boarding-house," said Sibyl.

"And did you and Mr. Lewellyn just meet here for the first time?" Edwin said to her.

For the second instance that day, Sibyl was struck with the odd feeling that Edwin Clair knew more than his words let on.

She began, "We knew each other a little from before – "

"Only a very little," interjected Daniel.

They looked at each other. Edwin Clair silently observed.

"I suppose – you might as well know," said Sibyl, pushing the last coin stack to the side and standing up.

"Don't tell him," said Daniel quickly.

The Inspector raised his eyebrows.

"I need to, Daniel. If I don't someone else will, eventually, and I'd much rather he hear it from me. You see, Inspector," Sibyl turned to him. "Daniel and I were once – "

"Very close," interrupted Daniel, with a glance at Sibyl.

"_We were engaged_, as a matter of fact," said Sibyl, enunciating distinctly and coolly. "But we did meet here entirely by chance."

"Ah. And how did this – attachment end?" Edwin Clair looked at her.

"He met Cindy at what would have been our engagement party," said Sibyl.

"Your engagement party?"

"It was going to be announced at the end." Sibyl's voice held no tremor, no disappointment. "But it was too late by then."

Daniel looked flustered. "It sounds so awful when you put it that way, Sibyl," he said.

Privately, the Inspector disagreed. She had stated it in a remarkably quiet and detached way.

"Did Miss Crawe know of this - former liaison?"

"No," said Daniel.

"No," said Sibyl.

But she then paused and said thoughtfully, "At least – I don't _think _she did…"

.

Edwin Clair, sitting in the car with the dark night rushing past outside, was making a neat list in his blue notebook by the light of the moon. His penciled handwriting was small and straight.

_Possible:_

_Daniel Lewellyn. Motive: Thought he would get Cynthia's money? Desire to be rid of fiancée because of S. White?_

_Lady Mary Crawe. Motive: Again, inheriting Cynthia's money? Extreme dislike for Cynthia?_

_Isabel Crawe. Motive: Same as L. M. C. Jealousy of rich step-sister?_

_Louise Crawe. Motive: Same as L. M. C. and I. C. _

_Priscilla Montgomery. Motive: Unknown._

_Gladys Petrie. Motive: Attraction to Daniel?_

_Lester Hawthorne. Motive: Unknown._

_Rose Burns. Motive: Unknown. _

_Sibyl White. Motive: Hatred for ex-fiancé's new beloved?_

Inspector White, after writing the final word, stopped and looked at the last name on the list.

He thought for a moment. Sibyl White didn't seem the _kind_ to murder in cold blood. And not with poison – dash it all -

His feeling insisted, "It can't be her."

Why?

And something in the back of his mind replied quietly, "Because she is a very beautiful and attractive woman. _That _is why."

.

_Author's Note: You know something peculiar? A very, very common trait in Fanfiction stories featuring a boy and a girl of any sort is for one to inadvertently bump into the other in the library. _

"_She looked over the shelves, filled with gilded leather covers, and suddenly heard a cough behind her. It was Prince Fillintheblank! "What are you doing here?" he said brusquely. "A library is for reading, highness," she said hotly, angry at his attitude. "Oh," he said. "I don't know any girls who like to read." And for the first time, he smiled…"_

_Et cetera. You know. So, I just realized that some of the important action and dialogue in _Glass_ seem to happen in the library. Isn't that odd? Is it just some fascination that all writers have with libraries? That's some kibble for deep thinking, folks._

_Author's Note No. 2: The last four sentences were lifted _almost_ bodily from Agatha Christie's 'Murder at the Vicarage'. They worked just too perfectly._


	7. The Chief

Chapter 7: The Chief

.

When Inspector Edwin Clair came the next morning, there was another man with him.

He was introduced to Mrs. Montgomery as Chief Inspector Richard Hearne. He was shorter and thirty years older than Edwin and wore a small bowler hat on his balding head. Every once in a while he took out a comb and brushed his comb-over in a series of quick strokes; one, two, three, one, two, three. He spoke in clipped and quick little sentences and looked over the room with a sharp eye.

After the introductions, he didn't waste any time. "Clair, please gather all the inmates of the house together here so I can question them."

"Chief Inspector, I've – "

"I'm aware you've done so already, to a certain extent, but there's nothing like a full-scale inquiry in one place. You've had some good luck in your cases so far, but there comes a time when The Experienced should trim things off quickly, and you've had plenty of…"

"One day, Hearne," said Edwin quietly. "It's been one day."

Hearne waved his hand dismissively. "Are you going to summon them, or aren't you?"

.

Lady Mary, Isabel, Louise, Daniel Lewellyn, the housemaid Gladys, the footman Lester Hawthorne, Mrs. Montgomery, Sibyl White and Rose Burns stood in the reception hall, looking about from side to side and to the mustached, round face of Chief Hearne.

"I've come to close off the case," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "There will be an inquest, as you know, and I'm going to make it neat as possible."

"I don't think you can make a murder into something tidy," said Sibyl, her red lips tight.

Hearne looked her face over carefully. "No, miss," he said. "Let's start with you, Lady Crawe. You say you were in your room the entire night of July second?"

"That's right," she said coldly.

"Then can you explain what you were doing talking to Daniel Lewellyn on the stairs?"

Lady Mary looked surprised for a moment, then pursed her lips. "As this was before nine o'clock, I did not count it as part of the night."

"Well, then, let's just say it does count. What were you talking about?"

"I was asking where he and his fiancée proposed to stay once they were married."

"And she expected me to tell her, too," broke in Daniel angrily. "As if Cindy hadn't had enough from – "

"Thank you, Mr. Lewellyn," said Hearne. "That will do."

On the questioning went. Isabel had had a headache, she said. She had listened to Professor J. Laud on the radio most of the day, gotten a glass of ice and gone to bed early. Louise had mirrored her mother's steps. Daniel had taken Cindy the chocolate, read to her a little, and retired to his own room. Gladys repeated what she had told Edwin Clair. Lester Hawthorne had been polishing the silver, after which he locked up the cupboard and gone to his room. Mrs. Montgomery stayed up later than all of them, going over the house accounts and writing up the bills. Sibyl was in the library with Rose until ten, and Rose said the same.

The Chief asked and prodded and dissected their answers until their feet were aching from standing and their tempers were on edge. But Hearne seemed satisfied. He had come to his own conclusions. He dismissed them.

.

Sibyl went to the sitting room to lie down for a moment and found Edwin Clair there. He was writing in a small blue notebook, and didn't see her in the doorway.

She stopped, and looked carefully at his face. She hadn't observed his features closely before. He was a very nice-looking child. A crooked sort of nose, and dark freckles, but that was all right; they suited, as did the logical turn of the mouth and the straight line of his blond eyebrows. It was peculiar; Sibyl liked noses to be straight and aligned, and crooked ones generally displeased her. She was still contemplating Edwin Clair's nose when he cleared his throat, and she realized he was watching her. She turned quickly and was about to leave, but he spoke.

"Miss White, I wonder if you would do me a favor?" he said.

She nodded.

"If you come across the Chief Inspector, could you tell him I'm here?" Edwin looked down at his book, ran a hand through his fair hair and jotted something else on the page.

"I will," said Sibyl. She felt very strange as she left the room. She wondered if she was coming down with something.

.

"I've made up my mind," said Hearne, with an important tug at his mustache. "Say what you like, boy, but I can't be taken in by young pups who have one good case and think they know everything. There must be a decision made and I've made it."

"Hearne," Edwin began.

The Chief ignored him. "I've looked over the evidence thoroughly, and there's one conclusion to come to. No use lolling about and thinking it over for centuries."

"I hope you know what you're doing," said Edwin quietly. "There's no motive that I can see clearly."

"Other than him mooching over that White tart? I see it all very clearly. She's probably just as much to blame."

Edwin felt oddly hot, as if he had been slapped. "I don't agree."

Hearne turned his head to look at him sideways, and stared suspiciously out of one beady eye.

Edwin counted to ten, breathed slowly, and went to the door. Before going out, he turned and said again, "I just hope you know what you're doing."

But Hearne was not listening. He was brushing his comb-over again. One, two, three, one, two, three…

.

_Author's Note: Thanks ever so, everyone who reviews me._

_Author's Note No. 2: Hey. Hey you. You over there, reading and not reviewing. I see you. After all, don't you think it's not really fair for you to enjoy the fruits of my labor and not say two words of appreciation? Especially when I spent the weekend watching straight through Downton Abbey S. 2 (hence the Downtonesque interaction between Sibyl and Eddy) and still found time for Chief Inspector Hearne. You're not nice. Review now, please._


	8. The Arrest

_This chapter is dedicated to the exquisitely kind Captain Fantastic. _

.

Chapter 8: The Arrest

.

Rose was eating a pink box of French truffles, one at a time. Sibyl was holding the poker the wrong way around and prodding the fire experimentally with it. Daniel was standing in his usual corner, brooding over his cigar, when the door opened and Chief Inspector Hearne entered the room with two policemen on either side. His face was composed, and he said calmly:

"Daniel Lewellyn, I arrest you on the charge of the willful murder of Cynthia Crawe. I must warn you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used against you in court."

.

The clock ticked quietly. Inspector Hearne had accompanied Daniel to the station, and Inspector Clair had also returned there. The house felt strangely empty. Sibyl was sitting quietly in the library after they had gone, staring into the flames and rubbing a thin black eyebrow with one finger.

She was deliberating over something.

Daniel had been arrested. The trial was to begin on the sixth of June.

Well, he _had _taken the cup to Cindy, and he _had_ been a bit short with his fiancée in the past days.

And, whether she liked to admit it or not, he had also been acting rather… well, familiar with Sibyl. She supposed, with a grimace, that they were going to drag all that out at the trial.

But had he really committed a murder?

Sibyl took her hair out of its ribbon and tied it up again. She rearranged her stockings. She rang for Gladys and ordered tea. When it arrived, cream-coloured and hot, she placed her fingers around the delicate cup, but did not raise it to her lips.

There was something out of place in the whole thing. Something was off. There was a piece sitting out in the margin that hadn't been collected.

Sibyl sat up straighter in the chair. She had often found she could think better that way. She swallowed her tea and set the cup back on the saucer; it was beginning to get dark outside again. There was thunder, and rain started spitting against the windows.

And suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, Sibyl's mind flew back to Chief Hearne's questioning of Lady Mary. And to Gladys' answers, and to Daniel's, and back to Mary, talking about the stairs.

Ah.

And there it was, that little piece.

It was so small. It couldn't mean anything at all.

But it was still_ there_.

Sibyl stood and crossed through to the sitting room. She opened the small telephone book and ran her eyes down the pages, then dialed the number.

"Edwin Clair, Inspector. Speaking?"

For a tenth of a second Sibyl had the impulse to put down the mouthpiece and let the whole thing be.

She didn't. "Inspector Clair? This is Sibyl White, from Mrs. Montgomery's."

"Miss White, what can I do for you?"

She took a breath. "I'm sorry to bother you. But I had a thought."

"Go on."

"Lady Mary met Daniel on the stairs, and they talked for a bit. He was going up, bringing the cup to Cindy, and Mary was going down."

"Yes?"

"It's just this, Inspector; nobody asked, and likely no-one noticed, either, but _Lady Mary never mentioned_ _why she was going downstairs in the first place_."

There was a silence, crackly, tinny.

"And she said that she was in her room the rest of the night, but if she did go down, why didn't she say what for?"

Still the silence.

Sibyl suddenly felt horribly foolish; it was nothing after all. She had made an idiot of herself in front of –

"Miss White, I have been through many bizarre cases," said Edwin, his voice sudden in the receiver. "Which is why I am chagrined that I did not notice this myself."

Sibyl blinked.

"You are clever, Miss White. I will be in shortly. Will you still be there in fifteen minutes?"

.

Sibyl was already waiting in the reception hall, looking through the window, when the Inspector's car pulled up. He crossed through the door, and before she could say anything, he inquired, "Is Lady Mary here?"

"Not at the moment," said Sibyl. "She and Louise went out to get tickets to a play, I think."

At Edwin's look askance, she smiled slightly. 'They don't seem too shaken up," she said.

"No," said Edwin Clair. "Could we speak in the library?"

"Why not," said Sibyl, beginning to lead the way. "Everything seems to happen there these days. It's only fitting."

They were startled by the sudden chime of the bell above the front door. They turned around simultaneously. Lady Mary was stepping in.

She was in the middle of saying something to Louise, but when she saw the Inspector she stopped.

"I thought you were done with everything here," she said, shortly.

"Well, not really. Most of you will have to be witnesses at the trial," Clair reminded her.

The words were out of Sibyl's mouth before she realized. "Why did you go down the stairs?"

Lady Mary was taking off her wrap. "I beg your pardon?" She narrowed her eyes.

"When you spoke to Mr. Lewellyn on the stairs on the night of June second," said Edwin. "You were on your way down. We were wondering what your purpose was."

Lady Mary hung up her wrap and removed her hat with extreme slowness. Finally she turned to face them, with a pitying smile.

"It was no whim of my own, I can assure you," she said. "I was roused by a knock on my door and was told I was wanted downstairs."

"Who told you that?"

"Sibyl, dear girl," said Lady Mary. "You must learn to control your emotions. Who was it? Why, the housemaid, of course."

"Gladys?" Sibyl frowned.

"She said Mrs. Montgomery wished to see me."

"Did she?"

"What a lot of questions you have. No, I found Gladys had been mistaken, so I returned to my room."

Edwin Clair said, "Lady Mary, why didn't you mention this before?"

Mary smiled again, and even before she spoke, Sibyl knew what she was going to say.

"You didn't ask," said the Lady, and swept past them.

.

_Author's Note: Reviews are the butter to my bread and the sugar to my lemonade. I savor them like butterscotch candies. _

_To "Guest": I only realized after I read your review that Eddy says that twice. I had to go back and put in "again" with the second time to make it look like I did it on purpose, heh. Thank you muchly._


	9. The Trial

Chapter 9: The Trial

.

The next morning, when Mrs. Montgomery went to the reception hall to take her usual place at the desk, she was surprised to see Sibyl already up. The girl was standing at the window and looking out.

"My dear, can I help you?"

Sibyl turned. "Oh, Mrs. Montgomery. If you don't mind, is Gladys anywhere about?"

"She's not, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Montgomery, with a slightly bewildered air. "She's got the day off, because of the trial tomorrow. The staff can get rather traumatized by these sorts of things."

"Oh." Sibyl thought for a moment. "You see, it's just that I couldn't find her last night, and I wanted to ask her something that's rather important. It's – " Sibyl suddenly stopped and exclaimed "Oh, what a little idiot I am!", causing Mrs. Montgomery to jump.

"Oh, my dear," began Mrs. Montgomery.

"Beg your pardon," said Sibyl. "But I really should have thought of it sooner. I can just ask _you_, of course. Did you, Mrs. Montgomery, ask to see Lady Mary on the night of July second?"

Mrs. Montgomery frowned. "Lady Mary Crawe? Why, no," she said. "Why do you ask?"

Sibyl made a sound resembling "Aah-h-h" and smiled at the woman. "That's what I'd like to ask Gladys," she said. "Lady Mary said that Gladys was ordered by you to summon her."

"Why, yes, I remember," said Mrs. Montgomery. "Lady Crawe came down to the desk. When I asked her what she needed, she said she had been told I wanted to talk to her."

"But you didn't," said Sibyl.

"No."

"How interesting," said Sibyl. "Thank you for your help."

.

"I'm feeling ever so nervous." Rose pursed her lips and twisted her handkerchief. "This afternoon has been just terrible. I keep worrying…"

"Haven't you ever read about trials in the paper?" Louise Crawe entered the library and sat down.

"Of course I have. But I haven't been in one."

"It shouldn't be too terribly difficult. All you have to do is answer questions." Sibyl sat across from Lady Mary's daughter and tried to glimpse Louise's eyes through the thick glass in her spectacles.

"But they wrangle your words, don't they? To fit what ever they want to be true." Rose blinked anxiously.

"I suppose we must simply do the best we can," said Sibyl.

"But you're so clever and logical and everything. I'll do something stupid, I know it."

"We'll all be fine," Sibyl assured her. She looked back at Louise and decided to attempt friendliness. "I'm sure you will be too, Louise."

"Oh, I know _I _will." Beneath her spectacles, it looked like her eyes were rolling.

More than anything, Sibyl despised being patronized. She gave up on being friendly. She went to bed early instead.

.

"And did you notice particularly what the prisoner's expression was when this was stated?"

"I did," said Inspector Edwin Clair.

"And what was his reaction?" pressed the prosecutor.

"He was reluctant to disclose the fact."

"Did he want to hide this previous relationship from the eyes of the police?"

The defense made an objection. "I must point out that Mr. Weber is asking an impossible question. Inspector Clair cannot possibly know what Mr. Lewellyn was actually thinking at this time."

"I amend my question. Did it _seem, _to you at the time, that the prisoner wished to hide his previous engagement to Miss White from you?"

"It did," said the Inspector.

The jury made a note of that, each hand scratching with a different pen.

Edwin's time in the witness box was over. Sibyl White was called and sworn in. She felt especially small in the huge courtroom, in the midst of all the dark walnut paneling and those derisible white wigs. She didn't know why on earth people still wore them nowadays.

"Name?"

"Sibyl Elisabeth White."

"Occupation?"

"Novelist."

"Miss White, were you well acquainted with the late Cynthia Crawe?"

"I was not."

"Would you describe to what extent you did know her?"

The onlookers, crammed into the seats in the balconies, listened anxiously. Several seconds ticked by.

Sibyl answered, "I first met her at a party at Daniel's house. Between then and seeing her at Mrs. Montgomery's, we hardly spoke."

"And when you did meet again at the boarding house, was the encounter pleasant and amiable?"

Sibyl flicked her eyes to those of the prosecutor. "It was, as much as could be hoped under the circumstances."

"And throughout the fifty days that followed, did your association remain pleasant? Or did the atmosphere become – strained?"

"I – " Sibyl began.

"It would be understandable if you began to feel resentment, or even…acrimony…"

Mr. Weber trailed off, watching for a reaction.

Sibyl understood now what the prosecutor was doing. He was digging a hole, marking it "Accomplice", and setting traps to make her fall in.

The balcony crowd waited, wide-eyed, for some kind of indignant outburst. A shouting rampage would be even more fascinating. They waited breathless in anticipation.

But the small, black-haired witness was not doing anything of the sort. Instead, an odd look settled on her face, as if the girl knew what was going on and didn't mind in the least.

"I don't know about Cindy, but I've always thought resentment and acrimony to be rather primitive emotions," said Sibyl, and there was quiet amusement hiding behind her voice.

Mr. Weber didn't hesitate. "Perhaps you think retribution a better option."

The defense began to make an objection, but Sibyl didn't notice. Her eyes and those of the prosecutor remained locked.

"Perhaps we all do," said Sibyl.

.

_Author's Note: Please excuse my lack of courtroom knowledge. The majority of it is gleaned from watching Witness for the Prosecution a bit too much. _

_Author's Note No. 2: I changed the date of the trial in Chapter 8 from June seventh to the sixth, to make the days line up better. If that confuses anyone, I offer my most sincere hope that you will go and dance a hornpipe._

_Author's Note No. 3: I understand that this chapter leaves a lot of loose plot strings swinging around in the breeze, but rest assured that a few, at least, will be tied up neatly in Chapter 10. Thank you for reading!_


	10. Incriminating

Chapter 10: Incriminating

.

_Note: This chapter has just undergone slight revisions._

_._

When a jury member was abruptly called away on an urgent family matter, the trial was adjourned until the next day.

Sibyl stepped haltingly out of the courthouse in a daze. Everything had gone too fast. Questions had flown at her face, and she had answered as best she could – and then there was that stupid prosecutor, making her say things she had never meant to say. At least she could rest now, clear her head, and sort her impressions. Gain some strength before facing him again tomorrow –

This thought was interrupted by her collision with Inspector Clair on the crowded pavement.

"Miss White, my apologies," said Edwin, catching her arm before she tripped. "I say, are you quite all right?"

"If you must know, I'm not," said Sibyl, adjusting her hat, which had been knocked askew. "I understood that trials are serious and all that sort of thing, but I didn't know – that it would be like _that_."

Edwin Clair just looked at her.

"I didn't enjoy it," she said, to clarify.

"I know you didn't," he answered. "Nobody enjoys it but the public up in the balconies. Are you busy, Miss White?"

"Not at the moment."

"Then would you mind if I talked to you about something?"

"Talk all you like. But do it somewhere I can sit down, if you don't mind. I feel as if I might fall on you."

"Of course. I'm sorry – here, I'll get you tea at the Orange Ferret. They've got splendid biscuits," and while he spoke, the Inspector offered Sibyl his arm, led her down the crowded street, and situated her in a small booth inside a café that smelled of cinnamon.

"That's much better, thank you," said Sibyl.

Edwin Clair silently watched her eyes rove around the room. Their table was situated next to a window, which meant that the daylight from outside came in starkly on one side of each face. Most women, Edwin thought, would want to face away from the light. Sibyl didn't seem to notice, which meant that he could study the snow-white porcelain of her skin, and the upturn of her deep lips.

But that was not what they were here for, he reminded himself sternly. He spoke again. "Miss White, your observation about Lady Mary the other day – "

"Oh! I should tell you," Sibyl exclaimed, turning her eyes back to him suddenly. "I asked Mrs. Montgomery if she really _had _asked Gladys to get Mary, and Mrs. Montgomery said she hadn't."

"Therefore, we could assume Gladys was lying," said Edwin.

"Yes, it seems that way, doesn't it? But Gladys had the day off yesterday, and I never got the chance to ask her about it. She must have been at the courthouse today, but the witnesses were halved into separate rooms. I didn't see Lady Mary or her daughters either."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," said the Inspector. "You see, there is a singular fact about that whole incident."

"What is that?"

"Gladys has never confirmed this story herself. All we're going on is what Mary said. Lady Crawe told us that Gladys came to her door, but she could have made that up - Gladys has never spoken of it."

"But Mrs. Montgomery said Lady Mary did come down."

"But Lady Mary didn't need Gladys for that. She could have just as easily come down on her own, pretending that she thought she had been asked for."

"But why would she do that? It seems a very pointless deception."

Edwin frowned. "It does," he admitted. "But it's conceivable."

Sibyl leaned in, resting her pointed chin on one hand. "There are two other possibilities," she said. "Suppose that Lady Mary was telling the truth. Gladys knocked on her door and told her that Mrs. Montgomery wanted to talk to her downstairs."

"In that case, shouldn't Lady Mary have told about it sooner?"

"I don't think so," said Sibyl thoughtfully. "She is just the kind of person who would keep it back, simply for the sake of being disagreeable."

Their tea arrived at the table, and Sibyl continued. "If that is true, then either (a) Gladys had some reason of her own for making Lady Mary go downstairs, or (b) Mrs. Montgomery did, in fact, ask for Lady Mary but denied it when I asked her about it afterwards."

"I don't see why Mrs. Montgomery would do that."

"Neither do I, so let's go with A." Sibyl was becoming excited. Mental stimulation gave her energy. "Why would Gladys want Lady Mary out of her room? Did she want to steal valuables, or something?"

"That is a thing Lady Mary would not stay silent about," said Edwin, taking a long draught from his cup. "If there was anything missing from her room, she would raise an almighty uproar..."

A smile tugged at the corners of Sibyl's mouth. "You're right," she said. "The Gladys-as-a-thief theory is ruled out. Which means – "

"Hold on," said the Inspector suddenly, lifting a hand out and closing his eyes for a moment. He nodded to himself and lowered his hand. "I believe I have it, Miss White. Why is Lady Mary a suspect in this case?"

"Because – " Sibyl stopped. "Ah," she said.

"It's all because of that encounter on the stairs. If Lady Mary had not been going downstairs just then, she would have had no opportunity to put anything in that cup of chocolate - and therefore would not be a suspect."

Sibyl said, "I thought - but isn't Daniel the only suspect now, since he was arrested?"

"That's Hearne's doing, not mine."

"All right, then."

"That incident on the stairs can work a lot of ways, I'm afraid," said Edwin, fingering his cup. "The theories we can think of must be gone through if we're to get anywhere. So: Lady Mary could have _told_ Gladys to tell her to go downstairs, just so Mary could meet Daniel. She could have also told Gladys to distract Daniel long enough so that she could slip the arsenic into the cup. The two of them could have been in league with each other the entire time."

"And," Sibyl snapped her fingers, "Cindy is dead, Mary gets the money, and the Lady can dress in mink and diamonds again." She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "But there are too many holes in that. How could Mary have known the cup was for Cindy? How could she have known exactly when Daniel was coming up? And anyway how could Gladys have talked to Mary at her door, gone downstairs, and still have been coming back up by the time the Lady started to walk down?"

"It's not impossible. Lady Mary could have taken any number of minutes after Gladys told her before she actually went downstairs."

"True. But what's the second option?"

"That Gladys wanted Lady Mary to be a suspect. In that case, Gladys would have invented the summons from Mrs. Montgomery. Gladys also would have timed it so that she had Daniel's attention long enough for Lady Mary's being the murderer to become a possibility." Edwin took a breath and looked at Sibyl. "What do you think?"

"I think the more potential murderers there are, the more difficult it is to find the real one," said Sibyl. "The same goes for multiple theories."

"Meaning?"

"Well, meaning that I don't know where to look for the _truth_ in that abominable staircase encounter. It's going to give me a headache if I think of it any longer." Sibyl sighed. "And also, that Gladys always did seem to be quite taken with Daniel, so there's a motive." She took a bite of a biscuit, and nearly spit it out again.

Edwin said anxiously, "You don't like them?"

"They're delicious. But I've just realized something." Sibyl dashed a napkin against her mouth and stared Edwin in the eyes. "We've completely forgotten an important factor in the entire Stair Meeting Event."

"And that is?"

"Louise," said Sibyl.

"Oh." Edwin's eyes widened and he sighed. "Which makes it all rather back to square one."

"Well, she can't be ignored. She was _there_."

"But still," said Edwin, placing a hand to his temple, "We only have Gladys' word for that, too."

"Do we?" Sibyl frowned. "It seems quite a lot is hinged on the word of the housemaid."

"Isn't that how it always is?" said Edwin. He laughed unexpectedly. "Miss White, I have enjoyed our conversation."

"So have I," said Sibyl.

"It's not really proper, you know," said the Inspector, suddenly looking foolish, "For an inspector to be chatting about the case with those part of it. But it has helped. What remains is to speak to Gladys directly and ask her a great lot of questions."

"And Louise," Sibyl reminded him. "She can tell us if she really was there."

"Do you think she was?"

"You know, I do think so. It would be an overly stupid lie to tell, even for Gladys."

"You know," said Edwin, downing the last of his tea and setting the cup down thoughtfully, "I wonder if Gladys is really _unintelligent _– or if, perhaps, she has been more cunning than us all."

.

_Author's Note: Please be cautious about mentioning the latest developments in any nice review you might give. In fact, if you don't mind, call them just that – "latest developments". I know a lot of people (including moi) sometimes read the reviews of a story before the story itself, and "Oh, well, I guess the maid musta done it, no point in reading it to find out" could be a possible consequence. THE FATES OF SIBYL AND EDDY ARE IN YOUR HANDS._

_Oh, and this is definitely not the end, so stay tuned!_


	11. Louise

Chapter 11: Louise

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When Sibyl and Inspector Clair left the Orange Ferret, the clouds in the sky had darkened and were growing ever blacker; by the time they arrived at Mrs. Montgomery's, it was raining torrentially.

They entered the hall rather breathless, having dashed from the taxi.

Sibyl began taking off her coat. "I wonder where Mrs. Montgomery's got to," she remarked to Edwin, seeing that the lady was not at the desk.

"Perhaps she's still out," Edwin suggested.

"Maybe she - oh, Louise," said Sibyl, as she caught sight of the bespectacled girl coming down the staircase. "Have you seen Gladys?"

"The _maid_?" Louise spoke as if the word were hilarious in itself. "She went off somewhere after we got out. Something about her cousin's."

"Well, that's that," said Edwin.

"It's as if she knows we're looking for her," said Sibyl perplexedly.

"Why on earth are you looking for her?" said Louise.

"Because we want to ask her – Oh! Dear me, I seem to be very stupid lately. Louise, you're the second person we were looking for."

"I?" Louise looked perturbed. She said suspiciously, "Why?"

"On the night of the murder, did you meet Daniel and Gladys on the stairs?" said Inspector Clair.

Louise stared at him for a moment. "Why – yes, I did," she said. "Is it important?"

"It might be," said Edwin. He was thinking hard, trying to remember what Gladys had said. "You were coming down with your mother."

"Y-e-s," said Louise warily.

Edwin shook his head. "But, Miss Crawe, you did not continue down with her," he said. "Why did you turn around?"

"I never thought of that," said Sibyl. She looked on him with something like admiration.

Louise looked from one to the other, as if trying to decide which horn of the bull to impale herself on. "If you must know," she said finally, "I was coming down to talk to Daniel."

"Would you mind telling me what about?" said Inspector Clair.

"I would," said Louise with dignity. "It doesn't matter."

"But it could," said Sibyl. A thought struck her. "If you just want to talk to Edw - Inspector Clair alone, then I can leave, if you like."

She was about to withdraw from the room, but Louise stopped her. "It's all right," she said. "He would just tell you later, anyway." The Inspector protested at this, but Louise took no notice. "I was going to talk to Daniel," she said, "And when I met him on the stairs I followed him back up. He was going to Cindy's room with the cup of chocolate."

"What did you want to say?" said Sibyl. She added quickly, "If you don't mind my asking," in case Louise decided to be offended.

Louise frowned at her shoes for a moment. And unexpectedly, she seemed to crumple.

"I was going to give him a piece of advice," she said. "To give up on Cindy. He was too good for her, and someone needed to tell him so."

"Why did you take it upon yourself to be the someone?" said Edwin.

"Because of my own reasons," said Louise, then shook her head and folded her arms. "It was because, you see, he – at one time…it seemed he cared a little - for me."

"Not you, too?" murmured Sibyl.

"He would ask me to dance. He took me for a drive – once." Louise squinted through her glasses at the floor and looked up at Sibyl, twisting her mouth vehemently. "I really can't imagine why he took up with my stepsister. It was very unexpected – and – very disturbing – to me," she finished awkwardly. Sibyl felt very sorry for her. After all, Daniel had done an enhanced version of the same thing to her. Even if she wasn't cut up over the fact like Louise was, it was still a kind of link between her and Lady Mary's sullen daughter. They were bound by the Jilted By Daniel Experience.

We ought to form a club, she thought dryly.

"It seems he behaved in an ungentlemanly manner," she said sympathetically.

"No, that's not it at all. He was just good as gold," said Louise. For a moment Sibyl thought with alarm that the girl was going to start stamping her foot. But she only continued on. "_She _got him in her clutches – probably drew him in with a soppy story of her childhood or something. He was much too good for that _chit _– and now he's been arrested for her murder. It's all terribly, terribly wrong. It's all that tramp's fault."

Sibyl had a sudden vision of her Aunt Celestine saying "We must not speak ill of the dead." She dismissed it. "Louise," she said, "Things aren't so beastly as you seem to think."

Louise only stared at her. "I suppose you're right. Things aren't so beastly." She turned abruptly away, and in a whisper to herself so soft Sibyl barely heard it, she said:

"_Because Cindy is dead, after all…_"

.

_Author's Note: This is a short chapter, I know. And I'm not sorry! 'S the way the writer's head goes, capeesh? I almost didn't want to update and spoil the pretty 12,000 word count (according to the site). Ach, I did anyway._

_Please Review. _


	12. Esse Quam Videri Bonus Malebat

Chapter 12: Esse Quam Videri Bonus Malebat

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The rain had lessened in the hours after Inspector Edwin Clair left the boarding-house and went to the station to put in his report. With his sturdy grey umbrella, he was walking slowly down East Boulevard St. in the city, watching the electric lights coming on as dark fell and the city's nightlife began prowling along the shops.

Edwin, as Sallust has said of Cato, preferred to _be_ good, rather than to merely seem good. He was made out of the old-fashioned mold, which is a bit stiffer but of better general quality; and at this moment he was thinking of Cynthia Crawe, and of arsenic, but also of black hair and red lips and persons who owned them.

His personality being what it was, he was surprised at himself to find such thoughts seeping about his conscious. He had long assumed that deep affection or endearment was a common feeling, used only in a pinch by desperate criminals wanting to sponge off their mistresses, or by circus performers in novels, or by cheap, crimp-haired actresses on lit stages; or that if the feeling was shared between two people, it was likely to only bring heartbreak and despairing shrieks and sooner or later, an investigation.

He called to mind the case of Daniel, who seemed to have romanced nearly half the females in the house at some point, and who was now pacing and rotting in gaol.

Of course, that was extreme.

He was coming around the corner of the block and began to idly repeat the train of thought in his head, but he dimly saw someone who resembled Sibyl rushing – nay, flying – down the pavement on the other side of the street, with no hat, no gloves and her coat hanging from only one shoulder.

The girl passed under a bright streetlamp, the light illuminating her panicked face; and Edwin realized with sudden alarm that it _was_ Sibyl –

– and moreover, that she was being chased –

– and so, of course, he took off after her.

All Edwin could see of her pursuer was that the heavyset man was wearing a brown bowler hat, and was huffing and cursing as he pounded after the girl; even so he was fast gaining. The few people walking up and down either side were absurdly uninterested in the scene. The Inspector could see Sibyl's hair coming undone, the little metal pins falling with tinny _plinks_ to the pavement, and the black tendrils flying about her uncovered head.

The bowler hat was five yards behind her when Edwin made a snap decision, darted to the side, and sped down the alley behind the building, praying that Sibyl would have the sense to turn that way.

He should have known her better, because naturally she had sense; and she turned that way.

He heard her heeled steps racing towards him, hiding in the shadows of the tiny alley's entryway; and just as she passed, he reached out and seized her, pulling her back into the darkness and clapping a hand over her mouth and whispering "Hush!"

Pat-pat-pat. The man in the bowler hat came closer, closer – and passed, puffing off into the night. He turned to the street beyond and disappeared.

For a moment there was Edwin's breathing and Sibyl's breathing only. The Inspector tried to collect his thoughts and shake the daze brought on by this sudden and peculiar encounter.

He took his hand from her mouth and supported her while she gasped and wheezed and clutched at him to keep herself from falling.

The Inspector suddenly felt the impropriety of the situation, but dismissed the thought promptly. For heavens' sake, she sounded as if she was going to have a stroke. "Miss White," he said with alarmed concern. " – Are you all right? What happened?"

"It's – a rather – long story – " Sibyl held a hand to her temple and breathed between syllables.

He didn't speak for a beat or two. She looked up at him suddenly and said with a wheeze and a half-attempt at a smile, "We seem – to be running into – each other often."

The Inspector patted her back a bit self-consciously and said, "Are you sure you're all right? Were you robbed? Is your – "

Sibyl shook her head violently, and closed her eyes, taking several deep, gasping breaths. "That's not it at all," she said. "Edwin – the murderer – _I know who it is – "_

"What – where – you mean that…?" Edwin gestured wildly in the direction the bowler hat had gone.

"No, not him." Sibyl looked up. "I've caught my breath now. I'll tell you what's happened."

_._

Now _this _isn't an author's note. Well, I suppose it is, technically, but it hasn't really anything to do with the contents of the story. It's more of a personal pondering.

Yesterday someone took poor _Glass _off his or her alert list, and it made me quite depressed. I tried to think, "Maybe they deleted their account entirely." (I checked. They hadn't.) "Well then, maybe they did it by accident." "Maybe they didn't want FF emails crowding their inbox." But all I could do was come back to the sad little voice saying, "_Actually, you know, they got bored and decided your story was rubbish and no fun and so, case closed."_

Now, you may be thinking, "The followers list goes from 10 to 9 and the violins start playing? What a noodle." But I think it's relatively normal. Any kind of rejection = dramatic sighs and depression. Yes, even I. So, to make me feel better and to let me know that there is someone, at least, who enjoys the faulty-and-plotholed-but-still-relatively-decent product of my blistered fingertips, please leave me a review, especially if you don't normally. It only takes thirty seconds, really – please? (Starts sniveling and hides pathetically in a pile of laundry.)


	13. The Invisible Man

Chapter 13: The Invisible Man

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We must now backtrack several hours.

After Inspector Clair had left the boarding-house earlier that afternoon, Sibyl had gone to her room. She had wished to continue writing; but her pens were dry, and her paper was limited to scraps. She opened her purse, checked the contents, and uttered a heartfelt "Bother!"

She ran downstairs and thrust her head into the library. Rose was sleeping on one of the chairs, but Sibyl did not want to wait.

"Rose," she hissed.

The golden head shifted and mumbled something.

"Rose!" - Louder.

"What on earth is it?" said Rose crossly, without opening her eyes.

"Do you have any money?"

"Not a bit, love. Even if I had, d'you think I would hand it over to someone who wakes me out of such a beautiful sleep?"

Sibyl scowled; but as Rose was dozing off again, there was no one to see it, and so she gave up. There was nothing for it: she must go to the bank, or be without paper and ink; and just when her novel was progressing so nicely.

She donned her grey hat and walking coat and set off to the village to catch the bus.

.

The bank was a monstrous brown building. Inside there were fourteen counters, with black curly railings separating the tellers from the outside world. Sibyl never liked going to any bank because the air _smelled _of coins and bills that had been passed from hand to hand to hand.

"Helpyewmiss?" said the bob-haired teller.

Sibyl said "Yes," and reached for her bag; but it was not there. She looked in her pockets and on the floor around her, finally spotting it with a sigh of relief over towards the doors.

"Excuse me a moment," she told the woman, and went towards it. As she bent down to pick it up, she saw sheets of yellow paper slip to the floor several feet away. She looked up quickly and saw a man with a brown bowler hat and a black open briefcase walking towards the stairs.

Grasping her purse, she strode to the papers and gathered them up, calling to the man. "Sir, you dropped something."

The bowler hat turned at her voice. She saw his face turn a murky shade of grey as he saw the papers and scuttled towards her. "Oh, no, oh, dear, oh…"

Just before he reached her, she glanced down at the sheet on top.

He snatched them from her hands with narrowed eyes and muttered something that could have been thank-you, and could have been swearing, before pacing off towards the stairs again.

Sibyl stood silent and wide-eyed, immobile, for a full twenty seconds after he was gone.

She blinked and blinked again.

Because in that one-tenth-of-a-second glance at the paper, she had seen a name she recognized.

It had to mean something. It could mean everything.

Without further ado, she scrambled across the room and looked around once, warily, before bolting up the stairs after the man.

.

"Hillser. It's me." The man with the bowler hat stood outside a dark wood door in the hallway, speaking through the frosted glass window.

Around the corner, Sibyl shifted her feet and looked through the crack behind the cabinet. She squinted, trying to see more of what was written on the papers held in the man's rough hand; but the electric light was too dim, and the windows in the wall were too small to be of any help.

The door opened, and a deep voice said, "Shaw? Hurry in, then. You've got everything squared already?"

"Best of the lot only," said Shaw, going in. "But it all comes down to – " The door closed, and the voices became muffled.

Best of what? Sibyl thought.

She padded softly in her small shoes to the door and knelt, scarcely breathing. Her coat was rustling noisily, and her hat was over her ears, hindering her hearing. She tiptoed to the desk at the end of the hall, noting the numbered safes in the room beyond, and removed her coat and hat, setting them down. She started to walk back –

And almost shrieked when the door opened suddenly and a man in a dark double-breasted suit stepped out. He saw her and frowned, was about to speak; but Shaw's voice came from within the room and said, "Hillser, tell one of the secretaries out there to get it from box 14."

Sibyl didn't move. She made her face relax and plunged ahead. After all, she was dressed in a simple blouse and skirt; standard working girl attire. "I can do it for you, sir," she said, forcing her voice into the businesslike tone she was used to secretaries employing.

For a moment the man in the suit hesitated, but he relaxed and said "Go on then."

"What would you be needing?" Sibyl replied.

"It's a green envelope. Should be at the top of the pile. The key's in the usual spot," he said.

Sibyl wracked her brains for a way out of that. "I rather thought they were going to move the keys to the – somewhere else," she said.

He looked at her strangely. "No, they're all still in the top drawers of the filing."

"Very good, sir," said Sibyl, and turned.

The room with the numbered safes. That was on the right, wasn't it? She musn't appear hesitant. Feeling the man's eyes on her back, she turned confidently to the right and nearly fainted with relief when she saw the tidy rows of black boxes.

She opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet and found the key. Safe #14 opened easily. There it was, a large green envelope, marked with thick red ink:

PRIVATE AND IMPORTANT

It was loosely tied with string. Sibyl couldn't resist. She opened it.

There was only one piece of thick paper.

Sibyl looked over the writing quickly, and then for the second time that day, she just stared, and blinked, and tried to take it in.

Oh, there were questions. Millions of them, it seemed to her. Why hadn't she thought of this? She had been so preoccupied with – well, she understood now. The events of June first floated through her mind. Cindy had - of course. She had forgotten. And then the second of June. The city.

She wondered if she should not just get out while she could with what she knew.

For the words on the paper had been printed clearly, and the last name was the same as that which she had seen on the yellow paper, down in the main room of the bank.

It was a letter from Cynthia Crawe to Philip Hillser, Attorney at Law, arranging an appointment to make a new Last Will and Testament.

The sole beneficiary was to be Daniel Lewellyn.

.

_Author's Note No. 1: It's not over! There is much more! _

_Author's Note No. 2: Look, detectivey coincidental meetings and spying and impersonating secretaries and things! I think this is my own personal favorite chapter so far. Thank you to everyone who helped crash my pity party last chapter. 50 reviews! Yayyy!_

_Author's Note No. 3: Would you believe it, I had a seven-minute Glass-character-inspired session and so drew Sibyl! You can find the link on my profile. _


	14. With What She Knew

Chapter 14: With What She Knew

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"Thank you." Shaw took the letter out of the envelope. After shaking it, he said to Hillser, "Where's the document?"

"How should I bloody know?"

Sibyl went from the room but remained stationed outside the door, listening. She had to listen. She must know where the will was – if it really had been made –

There was a brief silence, and Hillser appeared to be thinking.

He said, "Oh, right - sorry. The girl's fiance - that Daniel fellow - he took it."

Sibyl thought: he took it? Daniel had taken the will?

"Whatever for?" Shaw was irritated.

"I don't know. He had a perfect right to, of course."

"When was this?"

"When he came to see me the other day. He said he thought he very well might be arrested and to get the best defense I could lay my hands on. I have, too, and it's cost me an arm and a – "

"Don't crawl and cringe that way; it's revolting. I don't care what you've had to do."

"Well, I suppose he's put it in another bank somewhere. Blast."

"It's safer there than here."

"I – well, I suppose."

There was a sound of shuffling, and papers rustling. Then another silence.

In a strange, sudden voice, Shaw said: "Wasn't there string tied around the envelope?"

Sibyl spun her head and looked to her hand and saw, to her horror, the bit of string still in her palm.

"Was there?" Hillser didn't seem to be too concerned.

"Hillser, who got it for you?"

"One of the girls."

Sibyl barely collected her wits enough to begin running before the door burst open and Shaw came through, cursing under his breath. He saw her and shouted furiously a Word, which made Sibyl purse her mouth in scornful distaste even as she was careening down the hall; a Word which I would not care to repeat.

The brown carpet in the building was slick and expensive; Sibyl nearly slipped several times before she got to the end of the hall and dashed to the left, throwing the door marked "STAIRS" open with a bang.

She made a grab at her coat and hat as she tore by. Only her coat came away in her hand.

She thought, even as she continued hurtling down the stairs with Shaw puffing behind her, that it _was _a pity; the hat had been brand-new.

.

_Author's Note: This time I really am sorry the chapter is so short. It took a bit of serious mind-boggling (as well as chocolate), but I got the rest of the tale from here on out all planned, and the kinks straightened and accounted for, and the way things came about, 14 had to be short. _

_Thank you to my new followers!_

_This new font situation is strange. Apparently you can switch it to Arial or Verdana now, and sometimes it goes to Times New Roman? I prefer the Times myself because it makes it all more serious. Though I would rather, when all's said and done, for the entire thing to be Goudy Old Style or Big Caslon. (I am a font snob.)_

_And did you notice that when you click on the cover inside a story you can see it bigger? It can look pixelated, but with Glass it doesn't! Whee!_

_I must stop making my notes so long._


	15. Understanding

Chapter 15: Understanding

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"There you have it," said Sibyl. She pulled her coat closer around her and tucked her legs under her skirt.

She and the Inspector were sitting against the side of the building in the alleyway. It was colder now, but Edwin was so engaged in Sibyl's narrative and Sibyl was so interested in telling it that they hadn't consciously noticed.

"So you think Daniel Lewellyn murdered Cynthia Crawe for her money?" said Edwin Clair.

Sibyl gave him a Look. "She left _everything _to him. Money, assets, all of it. Of course he's the one who killed her!"

"There wasn't an actual will there, though?"

"But I _saw _the letter."

"Did you see Daniel's signature anywhere?"

"Well, no," Sibyl admitted. "It was only Cindy's writing."

Edwin nodded resignedly. "You see, unless we know that Daniel knew of this, there isn't definite proof."

"I see." Sibyl was quiet. Suddenly her eyes flashed with insight. "He said – Hillser said that 'Daniel took it'!"

"Daniel took the will?"

"Of course it was Daniel who took the will, you silly dipstick! He must have the will somewhere." Sibyl's mind was racing, and her words tumbled about themselves. "But he could have put it anywhere in the world. If you – you have to release him from prison temporarily so he can lead us to – "

"Release him from prison?" said Edwin, smiling at her a little; but it wasn't a condescending smile, so Sibyl didn't mind. "He's on trial, in case you've forgotten. For once Hearne was right – though not for the correct reasons." He looked at her strangely.

"But it could be jolly well anywhere. I must get back and search his clothes for it – anywhere."

The Inspector was thinking. He said, "It would be dangerous to let him go, even momentarily. He could even have the will on him – no, but he wouldn't, because he's been searched too many times. But really, Sibyl, do you want to release a murderer – if he _is _really the murderer?"

"He was a murderer yesterday, and all the days before," Sibyl said stubbornly. "And he wasn't dangerous then."

"Well, but nobody knew it; that makes the difference. You _are _right. We must find the will. But he will have put it somewhere safe – not in his room, or anywhere anyone could conceivably find it; but – "

"Hillser seemed to think that he put it in another bank."

"That does seem to be the most believable solution."

"And I do think, Inspector Clair," said Sibyl resolutely, "that he murdered his fiancée."

"That also seems believable; but remember, things aren't always as cut-and-dried as they seem."

Sibyl was silent for a moment. She straightened out her thoughts and tried to be logical, like the Inspector, instead of rushing to conclusions as was her usual wont. Daniel had been the new beneficiary. Most likely he had known of it. The same lawyer seemed to have been employed by he and Cindy. The two of them must have done a great deal together.

Perhaps they had been better suited to each other than she had thought.

She said, quietly and sadly, "He wasn't so very bad – at first. He went around with a lot of girls but - I think he might have actually married Cindy. She was the adoring type, you know. If she hadn't told him about the money – "

"Ah, yes," said Edwin. "The money."

"I hate money," said Sibyl suddenly and vehemently.

Edwin looked at her mildly. "That's a – pardon me, a very silly thing to say, Miss White. You can't hate money. Money is necessary. So is water – but a bad handling of _that _and you will drown."

"Well," said Sibyl, and thought about it.

After thinking about it, she continued. "There is something I don't understand. How would he have used the will - have gotten the money at all, if everyone still thinks it's going to Lady Mary?"

Edwin nodded. "I can answer that. Did you hear him talking to me the first day?"

"No. Was it about the will?"

"Yes. He mentioned, very casually, that Cynthia had spoken to him once or twice about a Swiss bank account she had."

"Those Swiss accounts. Always so very convenient, turning up at the last moment. It's just like a third-rate detective novel or something."

"I wouldn't doubt it – if he did get acquitted - if a ledger was suddenly found in her personal belongings, with the number of the account – "

" - And inside the safe, of course, would be a copy of the hidden will, with all the money going to him. Yes?"

"It _has_ happened that way before," said Edwin.

"I suppose he thinks he's very clever," said Sibyl with disdain.

"_If_ he is the murderer," Edwin said. "It's still possible that he's not."

"I think he is," answered Sibyl. She added flippantly, "If I'm right, you must buy me a new hat."

Unexpectedly, Edwin laughed at that.

He had a nice laugh. None of that irritating affected jollity or namby-pamby tittering she was used to men having. The Inspector's laugh was deep and from his chest, and she was sorry when he stopped.

She wanted to make him laugh again, and so was about to say something more; but instead her shoulders gave a sudden involuntarily shiver. She seemed to realize the temperature, the hour and their location all at once, and the primmer part of her mind rose in rebellion.

"Inspector Clair," she said. "I think we ought to go somewhere warmer."

"Edwin," he said softly. "It's Edwin. And you're right. We'll catch a chill at this hour."

He helped her to her feet.

He paused, and said: "Miss White, may I tell you something that may seem rather forward?"

"Say whatever you like," she replied, curiously.

"I admire you a great deal," he said.

Sibyl nearly fell over with astonishment.

But he was still speaking. "You were very resourceful and kept all your wits about you through that entire escapade, and not many women would have. Certainly not as well as you did."

"Oh," she managed to say.

She had been given many adjectives before by various admirers, ranging from 'brilliant' and 'superior' to 'artful'; but this sincere and admiring admission from Inspector Edwin Clair – the always calm and composed Edwin Clair – well, it overcame poor Sibyl, and she blushed and blushed and hoped desperately that it was too dark for Edwin too see her face.

She needn't have worried; he was hoping the same thing, because he was blushing just as furiously.

.

_To Windarian: LUKE, I AM YOUR MOTHER._


	16. The Housemaid

Chapter 16: The Housemaid

.

They hailed one of the crepuscular taxis that prowled the streets that time of night, and drove to Mrs. Montgomery's in quiet silence.

Which may sound strange – a quiet silence. But anyone who has experienced a little of human nature knows that there are loud, horrid silences, and then there are quiet, comfortable ones.

When they arrived at the house, Edwin walked Sibyl in. The clock in the reception hall read just after eleven.

"Thank you," Sibyl yawned.

"You must be exhausted," said Edwin.

"I am. But it's rather a good kind of exhaustion, I think. By the way, I forgot to say – thank you. For what you did back there. I don't know what frightful thing would have happened if he'd caught me."

"I'm glad I could help," said the Inspector.

Sibyl opened her red lips to speak again, but her eyes caught a movement in the corner of the room, and she said, "Who's there?"

Edwin turned, and saw - Gladys.

"Gladys, what are you - ? And when - ? And I thought you were staying at your cousin's?" exclaimed Sibyl, jumbling her sentences in an attempt to collect her foremost thoughts.

"That's what it is, Miss White, I talked to her about it and – she gave me some advice," said Gladys, nervously, twisting a handkerchief. "She said, 'Gladys, you must be out in the open. Petries have never snuck around like street trash, and you aren't going to start it now.' That's what she said, ma'am."

"How long have you been waiting here?" said Edwin.

"Not too long, sir, I could have come back tomorrow but I didn't want to lose my nerve, so I stayed," said Gladys.

"We want to ask you something, too," said Edwin.

"You go first, then," answered Gladys, shuffling her feet and looking a bit sick. "I hate this, sir, I've never done anything backhanded or below decency before, sir."

"I'm sure you haven't," said Sibyl, though she wasn't.

"All right then, said the Inspector. "Why did you tell Lady Mary that she was wanted by Mrs. Montgomery, on the night of June second?"

"Well, that's what I have to tell you," said Gladys miserably, wrenching the handkerchief into a sweaty rope. "It wasn't my doing, sir, I didn't think it up. I was only doing what I was told to do."

"Daniel?" was all Sibyl said.

Gladys shook her head. "No, 'twasn't _him_ who told me. I don't know if I can say it. The person told me to do things, like say I heard things different than what I did, and _lie_. And like my cousin said, Petries don't lie."

Hum! You did before, thought Sibyl.

"You didn't actually hear a cough?" said Clair, remembering what Gladys had told him before.

"I _did_. But it wasn't a man's, sir. It was _the person_."

"Wait – wait! Start at the beginning," exclaimed the Inspector.

"Yes, do," Sibyl said, frowning.

"It wasn't on the stairs it happened," said Gladys, looking as if she might faint.

"You mean – oh!" Edwin put a hand to his head. "There we were, focusing all our attention on that stupid encounter on the stairs, and it didn't happen there at all?"

Gladys shook her head wretchedly. "It was later. Later at night when the person went into Miss Crawe's room and put the poison in the cup. They knew she was still awake and didn't like to drink chocolate till it got cold."

The Inspector and Sibyl were speechless for a moment.

Sibyl said with a little gasp, "You _knew _the - person - was putting the arsenic in?"

"I didn't know it was p-poison," wailed Gladys, her round face pink. "They didn't tell me _that._ I was just doing like I was told and I felt i-important," she finished with a small hiccup.

"I don't understand," said Sibyl, chagrined and irritated and weary. "I was so sure it was Daniel. Whom are you talking about?"

"That Crawe woman," said Gladys.

A silence.

"I thought it was Daniel but - that - that _is_ someone I can think of who - who would use arsenic," said Sibyl, and she was so overcome that she sat down right where she was on the carpeted floor.

"I think I know what you mean," said Edwin, sitting down next to her. "There are certain people - It may sound silly to you, but I _have _had some experience with criminals - there are sorts that stab and sorts that shoot and push over cliffs; and there are sorts that poison."

"Tall and proud and haughty kind," murmured Sibyl.

"Exactly," Edwin said. "Lady Crawe would use arsenic in a heartbeat."

Sibyl looked at him.

"Lady Mary?" said Gladys blankly. "Why would she tell me to tell her that Mrs. Montgomery wanted her? Not much sense in that, sir, begging your pardon."

The Inspector began, "But I thought - "

"I don't think it was the Lady," said Sibyl. "Was it, Gladys?"

Edwin said, "Who was it, then?"

"Isabel Crawe, of course," said Gladys.

Inspector Edwin Clair stared. Moments flashed through his mind. Isabel's expression when she found him questioning her mother – Isabel telling Hearne that she had had a headache and gone to bed early – the fact that she, of all of them, had not been there earlier that fateful evening of the second. Daniel, Rose, Sibyl, Louise, Lady Mary, even Gladys had had obvious opportunity to put the arsenic in the chocolate – but not Isabel.

She was lurking in the background, a hazy form, watching them stumble and accuse all the wrong people.

Sibyl said again, quietly: "The tall and proud and haughty kind…"

.

_Author's Note: _Actually, I think I'll begin calling it something else, because I'm bored of that.

_Elfine's Note: _(Better.) _I reallyreally appreciate everyone's reviews, they make me extremely happy. We are almost to the end, so now is the time to cease speculation and just watch (because when y'all tell me you think so-and-so should be this or do that, it makes me all flustered because I want to live up to your expectations and I can hardly write anything). And maybe tell me your favorite part of the chapter, or of the story so far, because I like to know those sorts of things!_

_All will be explained…_


	17. The Truth

Chapter 17: The Truth

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Sibyl looked inquiringly into Edwin's stunned face.

"Well?" she said.

As happens with those who understand each other better than the usual passing-acquaintance relationship and will-you-make-a-fourth-for-our-bridge-club liaison, Edwin knew that when Sibyl said "Well", what she actually meant was quite different; things like, "How are you doing? What do you think?" and most importantly, "What are you going to do now?"

He _was_ thinking.

He was thinking of how this could have come about, and what Isabel's motive could have been, and how she would need to be arrested now, and did that mean that Gladys must be arrested too? but if Gladys hadn't known it was poison was she really an accessory? and that yes, she was, because she hadn't told till now. And how sorry he was for her because she was shivering and looking like a miserable pink-faced idiot.

And that after all, he was just so tired, and what he really wanted to do was go home and sleep, but he must try to understand it all or it would haunt his dreams.

Sibyl turned to the housemaid.

"Tell us your part in it from the beginning," she said.

Gladys began wrenching her handkerchief again and wriggling from one foot to the other. "I don't know if I can – "

"Might as well be frank," said Edwin. "Gladys, you're already an accessory to the murder. You took part in it, even if you didn't know it was murder at first. The best thing you can do for yourself now is to tell us the entire truth, leaving nothing out."

At the words "accessory to the murder", Gladys said "O-o-o" and went white.

"Go on," said Sibyl.

"I was minding my own affairs," said Gladys, swallowing. "At first. But then Miss Crawe told me to make sure her mother was on the stairs when the cup of chocolate was, so that she would be a s - a supsect."

"Suspect," corrected Sibyl automatically.

"But I didn't know that was why, I was only doing what I was told."

"Of course," said Edwin impatiently.

"And she told me to stand behind Mr. Lew'lyn so he would turn around and – and – talk to me." Even at this moment, Gladys could not help a remembering blush.

"So that Lady Mary would have opportunity to have put arsenic in the cup," said Sibyl.

"And later when I went 'round to check the electric lamps, I heard somebody coughing in Miss Cynthia's room, and I met Miss Crawe coming out. And she seemed angry to find me there, sir, although I hadn't been doing anything above my place. She told me not to tell anyone. But sir, I couldn't help it when you asked me because as it made me feel kind of important. But I changed it and said it was a _man_'_s._ And I didn't want to lie, sir, about anything, but she told me to."

"Gladys," Edwin said wearily, "Would you swear in court that it was by Isabel Crawe's hand that Cynthia died?"

Gladys nodded dumbly.

She was not lying.

"Well, then," he said.

.

_Elfine's Note: This chapter, although it does contain some important explanations, is more of a 'stalling' chapter until I can get down to seriously writing, so I'm very sorry for leaving you all with the questions you must have in the lurch…_

_Efine's Note No. 2: …but I am going on vacation starting this Friday, so I will not be updating until sometime later next week. But then I'll be back to my regular posting skedjool until the end. Of the story, I mean. Heh. _

_(Starts singing Lawrence Welk) And now, till we meet agaaain… _


	18. Isabel

Chapter 18: Isabel

.

Isabel sat, tall and trembling and strangely pathetic in her long white nightgown. Her face had a startling, bare look; her eyebrows lacked their usual dark pencil and her lips were empty of paint. She was pale and proud and furious.

"You are accused of the murder of Cynthia Crawe," said Inspector Edwin Clair. "What do you say to this?"

Sibyl saw that Isabel was clearly wavering between denial and admittance. She felt dangerously close to sympathy for her.

Isabel finally spoke, and her haughty voice made her small and pitiful.

"I – killed – her," she said proudly. "And - I would do it again."

A silence.

Until hearing it from Isabel's own lips, Sibyl had not known entirely, without a doubt, that it was true. Now she did, and she felt oddly like crying.

"Why did you do it, Isabel?" she said.

Isabel held her head higher, refusing to let the tears escape her eyes. She remained silent.

.

The next morning, Sibyl came downstairs and entered the reception hall just as Mrs. Montgomery was taking her place behind the counter.

The lady looked her up and down, peering into her face, frowning. "My dear," Mrs. Montgomery said, "You look frightful. Like you've been in a bar-room brawl. Where were you all yesterday?"

"Where have I been? Everywhere. In short, Mrs. Montgomery," said Sibyl with a dry laugh, "Isabel has confessed to the murder of Cynthia Crawe, she and Gladys have been arrested, and the trial for Daniel has been called off."

Mrs. Montgomery stared. "I'll not read those detective novels any more," she stated. "They're too like real life. I'll get you some tea. My housemaid is arrested and no one sees fit to inform me sooner…" She went briskly from the room.

The door opened.

In walked Daniel.

He was pale and haggard; gaol had not been good to him. His eyes were held in hollows and he faltered with a weary step. When he saw her, Sibyl could see that he made a visible effort to appear composed and nonchalant, but it didn't work, and he only looked rather pathetic. It made her uncomfortable.

"Hello," she said awkwardly.

Daniel laughed, but it came out more of a cough. He closed the door and leaned against it, about to say something, but Mrs. Montgomery came in. She stopped for a moment when she saw Daniel.

"Mrs. Montgum'ry," he drawled.

"You had better get into bed," she said. "Frankly, you look worse than Miss White."

.

Inspector Clair stood in the cell doorway.

Isabel was dressed and composed. She sat on the edge of the small bunk behind the bars, seeming to be unaware of her surroundings. She spoke to him as if she were in a society room in London.

"How long shall I be here?" she said.

"Your trial should begin within the week," said Edwin.

"And then?"

"Isabel Crawe, you have murdered an innocent human being."

"Aren't you clever." She was trying to unnerve him, and he knew it.

"Then, if you are found guilty – which I assure you, you will be – you will in all probability be hanged."

She seemed for the first time to be jolted. Her mouth opened slightly, and she looked at him, as if trying to understand.

Edwin was angry. "Does this affect you at all?"

She still said nothing, but kept that dazed look.

With a sound of disgust, Edwin turned to leave.

There was a little cry from behind him, and he stopped at the door and looked back.

Isabel was staring around her at the cold iron walls, and she was frowning and widening her eyes and uttering strangely angry gasps. She looked up suddenly, as if making up her mind.

"I have something I want to tell you," said she in her low, harsh voice.

The Inspector peered at her curiously. Her dark eyes seemed to him to be sparking and scraping and hating something. "Yes?" he replied.

.

_Elfine's Note: Salutations! That's a fancy way of saying hello._

_Have any of you noticed the names in Glass? I mean, "Lady Mary" and "Crawe" and "Isabel" and "Sibyl"? I assure you I didn't do it on purpose! I only just realized it myself. Someone was watching a little too much Downton Abbey when she started this story._

_So, I've noticed this problem sometimes when you leave a review: I think it swipes your user name and slaps a "Guest" tag on the review. Just a helpful little tip to watch out for. Because I sometimes receive reviews from this mysterious Guest person that sound like they're from someone who has a username. Kind of like when I was little and thought that Anonymous was an author who used wildly different styles every time he wrote something…_

_And by the way: You must read "The Man in the Brown Suit" by Agatha Christie. If you like The Glass Riddle you will love this. I'm just rereading it and it's one of my all-time favorites. _


	19. The Telling

Chapter 19: The Telling

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Isabel spoke slowly at first, unsure of herself, as if she were ashamed – not of the deed itself, but of the telling of it.

Her words came hesitant, faster, then fluidly; a queer relief came visible in her face and hung in her voice, and different emotions passed cross-hatch over her features from time to time: a kind of desperation, bewilderment, softness; glancing around herself with fury and a righteous anger.

She began, "I didn't want to kill her that night."

Edwin Clair thought he had better sit down.

Continuing, she waved her hands helplessly. "I really didn't! It wasn't – my idea. I wanted to wait – at least a week – or more. But – " Here she stopped.

"Please," said Edwin.

She looked at him a moment, wrestling with something.

"We made a pact," she said. "That neither of us would reveal the other. But I must."

"Why is that?"

"_I do not want to die alone_," she said, and in her eyes, such despair. "Inspector – Daniel Lewellyn and I – we killed her together."

Edwin Clair gazed steadily into her face, waiting.

She gazed back, pleading. "It _wasn't _fair that Cindy got all the money, was it? I _did _have a right to some, didn't I? I met Daniel. I told him about it. He had the idea we could get it together. Oh, it was very simple. He would get engaged to her, she would change her will – we knew she would; Daniel can make anybody do anything. She would disappear – and he and I would get married and live in luxury as we deserve. We love each other – "

"Are you quite sure of that?" said Edwin.

She avoided him, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "I told him it was foolish to give her the arsenic that night. But she had told him that she had changed the will and it went to his head – I pretended to have a headache – maybe I really did, in a way – I told Gladys to make my mother go down the stairs. Daniel and I timed it all perfectly. He even turned his head away so that my mother and sister would have had an opportunity to put arsenic in the cup themselves. He really is clever, you know."

"And you would have seen Lady Mary or Louise or even Gladys accused – "

"And not batted an eyelash. My mother is stiflingly horrid, Louise is a wretchedly irritating imp, and the housemaid is a housemaid. Backwash of society. Professor J. Laud said that intelligent organisms will be required to exterminate needless ones for the benefit of humanity, and I quite agree. It's like taking the rotten apples out – "

"Except that rotten apples don't have souls – _or _money," said Edwin.

Isabel narrowed her eyes at him. "I dislike you extremely," she said. "You stand for everything I do not. You would see every half-witted creature living – "

"On the contrary; I rather think we do have a little of the same viewpoint. My purpose in life is to take away the undesirable characters – the murderers, the hit men, the violence – people, in short, like you."

Isabel ignored this with effort.

"I went into my stepsister's room. I told her I wanted to borrow a book. It was very easy, slipping the arsenic in when she wasn't looking. She was always stupid. It was when I came out that I saw Gladys. She asked me what I was doing – I told her to shut it – "

"But she didn't, after all," said Edwin.

"I told you – backwash – needless – "

"And what do expect to gain now, by having told me your story?"

"Gain, for myself? I don't want to gain – I just don't want to die alone – "

"You don't wish to gain? You contradict yourself. You killed a woman for her money."

Isabel was angry; she could not seem to call upon her reserve of quotes from J. Laud, and so remained silent.

"Isabel," said the Inspector, "I think you have these lofty views in your head – you like to think in these terms of enlightenment - but really, you are terribly, terribly human."

He stood, and left the cell.

.

The telephone rang in the library.

Sibyl had attempted to rest all morning, but found she could only tap her feet absently and twiddle her thumbs, feeling hopelessly bored. She drank three cups of tea, read a page of her book half a dozen times and never understood a word; she felt oddly that there was something missing that ought to be near her.

She suddenly realized that she had spent a great deal of the last twenty-four hours with Edwin Clair, and was only beginning to think that maybe _that _had something to do with it, when the telephone rang. She ran to it and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Miss White?"

"Edwin?"

"Yes. Listen – this is very important – is Daniel there?"

"Daniel went out half an hour ago. What about him?"

"He and Isabel were in it together."

"They – _what_?"

"Isabel's told me the whole story. I can't – have you any idea where he went?"

"No, not in the least!" Sibyl frantically searched her mind for any clue as to where he might have gone. "Oh! Do you think he's gone to get the will, then?"

There was a shuffling at the other end, voices. Inspector Clair came back on the line. "Officer Briggs just told me that a policeman has seen Daniel up in the West District of the city. He's probably at a bank there. But I'm sending Jones up to the boarding-house to watch in case he comes there - I have to go – "

"Go, hurry," interrupted Sibyl. "And Edwin."

"Yes?"

"This means you owe me a new hat."

She hung up, smiling, the sound of Edwin's laughter echoing in her ear.

.

_Elfine's Note: Well, well! _

_Please tell me of anything I've forgotten, or any remaining questions you have, because I want to get it right. _

_So now it's all out. But not over!_

_And Cap, believe we hit 100 and 200 reviews, respectively, in the same week! _


	20. Daniel

Chapter 20: Daniel

.

After setting down the receiver, Sibyl had a flash of inspiration for her novel and went upstairs to write it out. These small ideas came and went so quickly one had to get them out before one forgot…she was going to put a hat shop in the story. The main suspects would meet there…sometime between the seventh and eighth murders, yes, that was the place. She sat down at the desk.

It was a relief to write. The words flowed quickly. That morning she had been stuck at breakfast listening to Lady Mary's frigid silence and Louise's angry stream of "It's all _so _horrid and beastly, how _could _she" until her ears rang. Mother and daughter had left to spend the day in town shortly after; it was a relief to have the whirlwind of their emotions out of the house. She _did_ understand their feelings…but she wasn't inclined to give much sympathy.

Rose, on the other hand, had eaten her toast in a decidedly satisfied manner. Rose had never liked Isabel.

.

Several hours and five brand-new chapters later, the fact that Sibyl had again ran out of ink took her attention to the fact that it was nearly tea time, and she had heard nothing from Edwin. She looked at the empty ink bottle and frowned. She must stop using it up so quickly.

Sibyl spent the better part of five minutes deciding to buy more; donning her walking coat and an old hat (the latter with a smile), she went downstairs and out the door –

- only to be arrested by a hand on her shoulder, and a deep voice proclaiming, "Ho now, Miss White, isn't it? Officer Jones, come to watch the house. At your service."

"Pleased," said Sibyl.

Officer Jones, a burly, bearded man, shook her hand enthusiastically. "The Inspector told us all about you. He told us that if ever you wanted a job, there would be a place for you at the station."

Sibyl felt that horridly embarrassing blush beginning to form; it was creeping over her face - she quickly loosed her hand from the officer's grasp and said "Well, that's awfully flattering, I'm sure. I'm glad you're here, Officer – " and upon that, she turned and fled.

.

Clever, Sibyl nearly always was. But on rare occasions her usually sharp mind was distracted, and she forgot certain things – such as water boiling, and her stockings; and this time she had forgotten something especially important - the fact that she ought to tell the rest of the house's inhabitants of Daniel's involvement in the murder.

Policeman Jones was a large man who had had his job for thirteen years. He was unbeatable in a fistfight or bar brawl, but he had a weakness; he was fond of a good smoke in the afternoon, just when the light was beginning to fade. Wasn't a bad job, this. All one had to do was look out for that Daniel-fellow – most likely he was caught long ago by now, anyway.

He looked about cautiously, stepped behind the hedge, and lit a match.

_Thunk._

Jones fell forward with a grunt. He did not rise again.

A figure stepped beside the officer's unconscious body and felt his pulse. Dragging Jones further behind the bushes, the figure took the unlit cigar from the officer's hand, and laughed softly.

.

Lady Mary Crawe and Louise came up the steps of the boarding-house, discussing the theatre adaption of _Antoine Willoughby_. It was playing at the Pine Opera House, and Lady Mary had bought a ticket.

"I can't stand to be in this house another minute," said Lady Mary, twisting her face in disgust. "It must be the atmosphere that caused Isabel to behave so – I've heard of haunts that goad inhabitants to do things. Well, I'll not stay any more than I have to."

"Let's just forget it, mummy," said Louise. Behind her spectacles her eyes were weary.

They stepped inside.

Daniel was sitting at the table in the reception hall, smoking a new cigar. Rose was looking through the writing-desk in the corner. As Lady Mary and Louise came in Daniel looked up.

"Hello," he said.

Lady Mary ignored him. "Louise, go and set out my evening dress for tomorrow at the theatre." She unclasped her handbag and rummaged in it with two fingers. After a lengthy search, "Blast," she said with a ragged, irritated sigh.

"What is it, mummy?" Louise said, pausing.

"Lost my ticket to _Antoine Willoughby._ It's going to end tomorrow and the tickets are sold out, likely. Now I've gone and misplaced it." She shook out her skirt and let fly two or three half-expletives.

Daniel spoke. "Why not run over and see it tonight?"

"I told you, I don't have my ticket anymore…"

"I do," he said. "I was going to go with…with Cindy…before." He appeared distressed. "They were for tonight. You can have them if you like."

"I'm sure that's very kind of you," said Lady Mary, staring at him, with an almost suspicious expression. "Very – er – economizing, too. I suppose going yourself would be uncomfortable." She eyed him.

"Yes," said Daniel.

"So distasteful, I think, when one begins to go out so soon after the death of a beloved one." She fairly snatched the white slips of paper from Daniel's held-out hand. "It's very considerate of you."

"Since there are two, why not take Louise?" Daniel suggested. "She'd probably enjoy a bit of gaiety after all this dreariness, wouldn't you, Louise?"

Louise had been unpinning her burgundy-coloured hat, but she stopped mid-tug and looked up, startled. "Go? Go where, Daniel?"

"_Antoine Willoughby_." Lady Mary peered closer at the tickets. "Goodness! Eight o'clock! But that's in a half-hour. Louise, put your hat back on, you dunce. Get your coat."

Amid Louise's protests and skeptic glances thrown Daniel's way, Lady Mary whisked her out the door.

Rose shrugged and took a few envelopes from the writing-desk. "I'm going to answer some letters," she said. "Have you seen Sibyl?" she threw over her shoulder on her way out.

Silence reigned in the room.

Daniel reached for a new cigar and lit a match, the flame illuminating his handsome face. Through the grey puffs of smoke a small smile could be seen lurking on his mouth.

.

_Elfine's Note: This was a hard chapter to write; I haven't the faintest idea why. If it seems a little haphazard please tell me how I may improve it._

_And I don't often REALLY like Celtic-Irish type melodies, but I heard Loreena McKennit's "The English Ladye and the Knight" recently and it's like a fairy tale in itself, and I do like it muchly. Inspirational writing music! _


	21. The Will

Chapter 21: The Will

.

Sibyl opened the door and stepped inside the boarding-house.

Her new ink was clasped in a paper bag in her hand. She intended to go to the counter and ask Mrs. Montgomery if there were any messages from Edwin; but the reception hall was quiet, and Mrs. Montgomery's usual place was empty.

She ventured slowly a few steps further into the room, looking about her.

And in the back of her mind, a red light began flashing.

She began counting off the boarding-house's inhabitants; Lady Mary and Louise were in all likelihood still in town, the footman would have gone home for the night, Isabel was incarcerated, as well as Gladys; but Rose and Mrs. Montgomery should still be –

It was at that moment when Daniel's voice came ricocheting into the room.

It was coming from the library, and he was laughing at something; it was the kind of laugh one uses when one is quite alone and amused at something. He seemed to be speaking to himself as well, soft and low, whispering imperceptibly. Sibyl froze.

How had he gotten past Jones? Was he aware he was known to be a murderer – did he know he was hunted? If he knew he would never be so mad as to come here –

_Would he never be so mad? Perhaps; for he _was_ mad – _

The slow squeal of the library door brought her heart to her mouth. She bolted to the counter and crouched low behind it; heart pounding, fingertips tingling, her head in a whirl…

Footsteps came out of the library and creak – creak – were ascending the stairs. Sibyl moved her head and looked from between the wooden decorations outlining the desk. Daniel was going up, his tall, graceful stature unmistakeable. He was humming quietly a few snatches of a song and fiddling with a paper held in his right hand.

Sibyl looked closely. Was he holding the will? What was he going to do with it?

He disappeared around the corner, into the hall; and Sibyl, thinking only of the will, crept up the stairs after him.

She stepped on the stairs quick as a fox and carefully, placing her feet in the places without creaks; in this way she went up and ventured into the still hallway. She took a place behind a chaise lounge and listened.

He was in his room. She could hear him opening and closing drawers. Presently he emerged; he closed his door (but did not lock it again, Sibyl noticed) and began descending the stairs again.

Sibyl took a moment to breathe again. Daniel was in the house -

She looked about her. Mrs. Montgomery was either out running an errand for some reason – or? An image of the older lady bound and gagged in a closet somewhere inserted itself into Sibyl's mind, and she swallowed. Rose might be in the same predicament. She thought for a moment.

He was downstairs. She could find the paper in only a few minutes – if it wasn't hidden too deeply.

She stopped at Daniel's door, at the end of the passage, and tried the knob. It opened easily.

Feeling terrified and oddly clever, Sibyl pushed the door open, willing it not to squeak. It didn't. She tiptoed in, shut it behind her, and switched on the light.

The room was much the same as hers in setup; but unlike it in that it was kept immaculate. Just like a Prince Charming type to be uptight about neatness, she thought. Sibyl shuddered involuntarily and began opening the drawers.

.

Sibyl's fingers shook with excitement as she picked up the mouthpiece and told the operator the number. Any moment, Daniel might go up to his room and find that the paper was gone. She listened with feverish impatience as the telephone rang on the other end once, twice. Thrice.

"Hello, this is Officer Lambreth. Who is speaking?"

"Officer – this is Sibyl White, and I'm calling to speak to Inspector Clair – "

"Inspector Clair is not here, Miss White. He's on the trail of Daniel Lewellyn downtown – "

"Daniel Lewellyn is _here_, Officer! You must come immediately!"

"Lewellyn is there – "

"At the boarding-house! He might know that he's known as a murderer and he might not but you must come! I don't know what he's intending to do!" Sibyl's voice rose and she forced herself to keep it down. What an idiotic officer –

There were voices on the other end; some sort of banging; and a crackling of static.

Suddenly through the line came the voice of Edwin Clair, deep and reassuring; Sibyl could have kissed the earpiece.

"Si – Miss White? I've been on a wild goose chase that could've led to Mars – Lewellyn's disappeared - "

"Edwin, I found it - in his bottom drawer! And he's here and I think Rose and Mrs. Montgomery are as well but I can't find them - "

"Daniel is at the boarding-house – now?"

"He's here! And he doesn't know I'm here yet but I took the will and I have it and you must come at once before he realizes I'm here – or before he decides to make a run for it and disappears!"

"You're – "

"I don't know but somehow – Edwin, I think he's waiting for me."

"Where's Daniel now?"

"In the library."

"Where are you?"

"In the sitting-room, upstairs."

"Pardon my language, Sibyl, but – you've taken a hell of a risk. You should have stayed in hiding - if he finds out the will's not there, he'll know - "

"If Rose and Mrs. Montgomery are here, he won't try anything."

"And if they're not? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Yes – yes, hurry."

"Don't let him get away; he might run off into the night and escape to Russia or something…" Edwin was still talking, but Sibyl's ears heard the groan of the staircase outside the sitting-room door.

"Edwin," she interrupted. "He's going back to his room!"

Edwin said, "I'm coming," and rang off.

Sibyl put the receiver down with a quiet click.

She went out and saw Daniel's receding figure at the end of the hall. He disappeared into his bedroom, and Sibyl heard the door shut. Why was he going back in? Had he thought better of the will's hiding place? Would he see it wasn't there?

She ran into her room and patted her face with a cold washcloth; she wanted to stay in hiding here, in her room, but what if Rose and Mrs. Montgomery were downstairs? What if Daniel had done something to both of them?

For a few minutes she stayed in one place, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed, wishing Edwin were there already; but it would take him twenty minutes to travel from the station – maybe more.

She took off her shoes and went out in her stocking feet, silent. She could hear the hiss and cracking of the fire downstairs, and realized for the first time how cold she was.

Daniel was still in his room, wasn't he? She could slip downstairs and look for Mrs. Montgomery; surely she must be here somewhere…she made her way quietly down the stairs and padded through the empty reception hall, to the servant's quarters, to the kitchen, looking; every room was silent – room after room was dark and uninhabited.

No longer able to contain the fear in her stomach, she returned to the reception hall and –

- and the voice of Daniel Lewellyn came in from the library and cut into her thoughts; calling cheerfully – "Is that you, Sibyl? Wondered where you were. Sit by the fire; it's ever so nice…"

There was no way to escape it – he had seen her; she went. Trembling…

She entered the room and looked about. Daniel was sitting in the brocade wingback chair, staring into the flames. There was no one else in the library.

"Where is everyone?" she said, trying to make her voice calm and unaffected; she could only hope he didn't know she knew...of course he might have gone to take the will from the drawer again and put it somewhere else; he might know she had taken it – he might know everything -

"Mary and Louise went to a play half an hour ago," said Daniel, turning his face to her. "Mrs. M had a call to pay to some old friend and she's left for the evening. I told her I would be quite all right alone."

"Where is Rose?" she said, dread rising in her stomach.

"Went to get Aspirin, or something," said Daniel, rising lazily from the chair. "I told her she might as well do it tonight. She won't be back for a few hours, in fact."

He sounded almost exultant. So there was no one else.

She and Daniel were alone in the house…

.

_Elfine's Note: THE END._

_Just kidding! (cackles)_


	22. Alone With The Murderer

Chapter 22: Alone With The Murderer

.

How long ago had she telephoned Edwin? It seemed like ages. The clock read just after eight. She had to remain calm. But it is really almost the height of impossibility to remain calm when alone with a murderer.

All she could do was wait, and pray desperately that he wouldn't try anything – not yet, at least.

Yes, all she could do was…stall.

"Been dull around here, hasn't it?" Daniel said, sitting down. "I mean, with everything. It's all rather a mess. Such a lot of bother."

"There is always rather a lot of bother when someone's been murdered," Sibyl burst out, and wanted to bite her tongue off. Oh, she was doing just splendidly, wasn't she?

But Daniel hadn't seemed to notice. Too much at ease, she thought bitterly. Thinks he's safe as anything. I suppose he arranged very cleverly to have Rose and everyone gone just now.

"Have some chocolate?" Daniel's voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned a startled face on him. What had he said? Cindy's still, white face came to her mind. Chocolate – no, no, not that!

"No, thank you," she said in a low monotone.

Daniel turned again and placed the silver pot on the tray.

She walked to a chair and sat down in it.

The fire hissed and cracked.

"But – it would do you good, I think." What was he doing? Surely – Daniel was coming towards her, with a cup and saucer in his hand. He had been doing something over at the table – perhaps slipping powder into the cup? Oh, where was Edwin?

"Come along, Sibyl." Daniel was still advancing. Was it her imagination, or did he speak in a curiously excited tone? He must be mad – his hands were twitching, his eyes were gleaming; he was continually passing his tongue over his dry lips.

"Come along, Sibyl," he repeated, and put a hand on her arm. "Or I'll have to force-feed it to you…"

His tone was lighthearted - but there was that underlining of ferocity - it made her feel sickened. She jerked her arm free and clung to the chair; she was trapped, powerless; she couldn't get away – she couldn't do anything – and he was still coming towards her –

"Take it, Sibyl…"

"No – no!"

She nearly screamed, and held her hands out.

"Daniel…" she gasped. "Stop - I've – I've got something to tell you…"

He stopped.

She slipped out from under his bent form and stepped back towards the fire, forcing herself to talk slowly, calmly, holding a hand to her drumming heart. The heat from the flames rolled in waves behind her, and the feel of it on her back gave her courage.

Daniel was silent, waiting. No doubt he thought he had plenty of time. But Edwin would be coming – any minute now, she just knew…

"Perhaps this wouldn't interest you…" she forced herself to speak with her usual cynical drawl, but behind her calmness she was thinking and inventing feverishly. For the story she told must hold his attention until help arrived. A murderer would want to hear about a murder, wouldn't he? Sibyl gambled on this. "I have – something to – confess," she said, laughing a little, and nearly choking on her laughter.

Daniel held a slight sneer on his face now. But there was interest as well. "To confess?" he said curiously.

"Yes." She steadied herself. "You'd better sit down again."

Daniel sat in the chair. The steaming cup he placed on the wide wooden arm.

"It was – ever so long ago," she said, stepping from one foot to another, wracking her brains. "After you went off – with Cindy." A wave of arrogance swept through his face. He thought she was still in love with him. Well, let him think that, then.

"You came to visit me, once," she continued. "As friends, because we didn't want any grudges. Do you remember?"

He inclined his head. Well, it was true.

"Well, you were talking to her on the telephone. You were laughing and talking – together. I was in the kitchen. I was listening to your chatter and your little – conversations…" He was listening, with the same look still on his face. She had him captured. She slowed her speech down, spaced her words, creating more time – anything to suspend her safety –

She paused, marshaling her forces.

"Well?" said Daniel.

"No. I'm afraid. I can't tell you," she said. "Another time…"

"Now," he said impatiently. "I want to hear."

She took a breath, paced back, forward, and stopped, holding her head up. "I was listening to you and her, and something just – snapped." She risked a glance at the clock. A quarter past. Any moment now – "I couldn't take it, Daniel. I had some weed killer for the plants, particularly strong stuff." Edwin should have been here hours ago, she moaned inwardly. "I took some…I put it in with the coffee I was making."

"_What_?" Daniel half-started up from his chair, hands gripping the arms. The cup clattered softly in the saucer.

What was that outside on the drive? Footsteps -

She stepped back and put a hand to her chest. "And not just in the coffee, Daniel. I put it in the sandwiches, in the spread. And I put it in the milk and – and the salad – "

There was no doubt about it now. The steps were going through the floors downstairs –

He was slowly rising. "You were going to poison me?" He advanced, ready to spring. "_Poison me, _you she-devil?"

She backed up towards the fire, wholly terrified. The man was mad. The heat of the fire licked at her back.

"Poison me, you _idiot_?" He kept coming. And coming. She cowered beneath his advancing tall frame - she was going to perish now – it was the end -

"_Do you have any idea what you have gotten yourself into_?" he screeched, and reached his hands toward her -

At that moment the door of the library flew open, and Sibyl saw, in an instant, the glorified, upright figure of Edwin Clair against the light.

"Stop where you are," came his clear, deep voice, resounding across the room. "There are five pistols aimed at your back, Daniel Lewellyn, so I wouldn't go any further if I were you."

Sibyl gave a half-strangled cry and flew through the room headlong to fall, half-fainting, into Edwin's arms.

He caught her up and kissed her soundly.

"Sibyl!" he cried. "Thank God!"

.

_Elfine's Note: The events in this chapter were inspired directly by Agatha Christie's "Philomel Cottage"._

_Aaand it's still not over! One more chapter! _

_But since it's my birthday tomorrow, wouldn't it be nice if every one of my followers and favoriters gave me a nice little review for a present? It would make me very gleeful!_

_Cap and Clar: Kissy-face for you._


	23. Finishing

Chapter 23: Finishing

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The long shadows of the night were slowly fading as daylight crept into the sitting room of Edwin's small apartments. Sibyl yawned. She and Edwin had stayed up all night, talking, explaining, telling about the past days.

He was so dear, she reflected, watching the outline of his face against the window as he bent to pour the tea for her. He put the cup on the table beside her, and sat down next to her on the plush loveseat. Such a fitting name, she thought. She said, "There is something I'd like to know. When did Daniel and Iabel become involved? I mean, I still have rather a time wrapping my head around that."

"I think it began at your engagement party. They met there, Isabel told him about Cynthia's money, they hatched the plot, and Daniel was romancing Cindy by the end of the evening. Does that sound right?"

"Y-e-s," said Sibyl. She was quiet.

"Sibyl, are you all right?" said Edwin, very soft.

Sibyl looked at him and smiled. "If you mean about Daniel; darling, I would be a fool if I felt any hurt – in my heart - over his leading me a dance. It's my _pride_ that feels it – but even that is evaporating awfully quickly," she said, linking her arm through his and leaning her head back sleepily.

"By the way," said Edwin, settling himself on the seat. "What was that story you were giving Daniel when I came in?"

Suddenly she was wide awake, feeling a pang. He must know now.

"Whatever made you think of such a thing?" he said, closing his eyes. "You have a terrific imagination."

Sibyl was silent a moment. "It wasn't imagination," she said slowly.

Edwin looked at her.

"And it wasn't a story," she said.

His level eyes watched hers, true, unblinking.

Sibyl said, "It was true, Edwin."

"But you didn't give it to him," said Edwin. "You didn't poison him, Sibyl."

"No, I didn't," she said.

"Why didn't you?" he said softly. He knew the answer. Dear Edwin, he knew why.

"Because I'm not a murderer, love," she said simply. "There are people who can. But I can't. I couldn't."

"Yes," he said.

"I couldn't bring myself to blot out a life. That would have been playing God. And I couldn't do it."

"I know," he said.

The birds were laughing outside the window, their lilting melodies rising through the air. Small winds blew quietly among the trees. The sun was coming up rapidly.

And all through the room, the light was reaching into the darkness.

From the depths of the loveseat came Sibyl's sleepy voice murmuring. "Edwin?"

"Yes, Sibyl?"

"I know what my next novel's going to be…"

"What, love?"

But Sibyl was suddenly up and walking across the room, the flash and liveliness of inspiration in her eyes. She went to the desk, took a piece of thin white paper, and opened an ink-bottle, noting with approval that Edwin's desk was well-stocked. She dipped her pen into the dark fluid, thinking for a moment; smiling, she bent her head over the page, and began to write.

_It was a grand house, to be sure. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but surrounded with willows and roses and many quintessentially English shrubs…_

.

Ende.

.

_Elfine's Last Note: _

_Thanks to Clar the Pirate, who with her interesting PMs inspired the ending._

_Well, well! I'm sorry it's over. It hasn't been easy to write a mystery in parts…you can't go back and change things. But I've managed, and enjoyed myself tremendously. _

_I have something else interesting to tell. A few days ago I read an article in a magazine about the Fifty Shades of Grey series (shudders) and fanfiction. The author of the article spoke to a great length of how fanfiction was amateur authors writing themselves and coarse scenes into their favorite books or movies. I wrote an email to the journalist saying that while Fifty Shades is indeed horrid, and yes, that is true about most fanfiction, there is also imagination and originality and good writing on this website. (Basically what I preach about on my profile.) They wrote back and said thank you and they want to publish an excerpt of my letter. WOOOOT. Elfine making the world a better place._

_Thank you, thank you with chocolate on top to everyone who reviewed and followed and whatnot. God bless you all!_

_And –sweeps a grand bow with a flourish- I bid ye all adieu._

_(P.S. My next story will be "Desperado". You can read the summary on my profile, and if you're interested please check out the first chapter, which will be revealed soon!)_


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